“Yeah.” I reach a hand across the table, and he takes it.
It’s weird trying to eat with one hand while someone’s holding the other. Do couples even do this? I wouldn’t know.
My phone buzzes, and I already know who it is.
Cesar: you’re not selling it
I fake-laugh loud enough for them to hear, and Jamal joins in.
Cesar: there you go
Jamal and I spend the next half hour pretending to be all smitten. We fake-laugh and hold hands and eat off each other’s plates, even though I don’t like his food. You’re welcome, Cesar.
But pretending to be in a relationship makes me wonder what it would be like to be in an actual one. Maybe one day I’ll do it for real. But I hope it’s easier than this. I want to able to hold someone’s hand whenever I want. Or talk to someone on the phone until we fall asleep. Or kiss someone that I’m actually attracted to.
I want to kiss a girl. I want to hold a girl’s hand. I want to cuddle with a girl. I want a girlfriend. But Cesar has a boyfriend, and he can’t even do all those things. My mom isn’t like Bo’s parents. We don’t have the privilege of being ourselves. It doesn’t work like that.
Not for us.
8
Thou Shalt Mind Thine Own Business. Bitch.
I always look forward to art class. Like usual, today Ms. Felix just gives an assignment and lets us go at it for an hour. She never cares if we’re goofing off, as long as we have something to show at the end of class. She just floats around doing her own art and complimenting everyone else’s for most of the time.
It’s like therapy for me. I can decompress from the tension of having to be around Jenna and Karen in language arts. It might be the borderline toxic fumes from all the markers and dirty paint-water, but I find it hard to worry too much when I’m in here. Bo and David are both really talented, while Hunter and I try our best and usually miss the mark. After working on landscapes and still lifes, we’re onto portraits, and we have to partner up to draw each other.
Bo and Hunter both ask to be my partner at the same time. They share a look, then Bo shrugs. “No worries, I’ll work with David,” she says, and my heart sinks to the pit of my stomach. Hunter grins at me, showing off both dimples and those smoochy white-boy lips.
“Wait! I don’t know how to draw . . . um”—Hunter looks at me with bright, hopeful eyes, and my mind races, trying to come up with an excuse to be partners with Bo—“white people.”
Hunter just stares at me and blinks. I hold eye contact, waiting for him, or anyone, to say something. We both just stare at each other while I slowly die inside, my soul floating away into the next plane of existence, screaming into the abyss.
“She’s right.” Bo finally cuts the silence. “White people are hard to draw. It’s like, whaaaat? How?” She turns her face to me so Hunter can’t see her wink. She probably thinks I’m avoiding him after he asked me to homecoming. My knight in shining khakis.
“I can draw white people, bro,” David says to Hunter, who looks disappointed.
“Okay, cool.” Hunter turns to David and they get to work.
Bo grins at me. I blush and get started.
The thing about art that no one tells you is that almost anyone can do it. There are rules, and as long as you follow them, you can fake skill until you actually have it. Regardless of skill level, drawing every inch of Bo’s face makes it really hard not to get caught up admiring her, so I take my time drawing the lines and circles that make up every generic face before I finally have to really look at her. She’s giving me a straight face, which is smart so her facial muscles won’t get tired while I draw. She’s not wearing any makeup, but she doesn’t have dark circles under her eyes like I do. I imagine her sleeping peacefully for a full eight hours. She probably wears rainbow pajamas. I wonder if she puts her hair up to sleep. She would look so cute in a messy bedtime bun.