“Hiding,” Bo says matter-of-factly.
“We’ll hide with you.” David pulls out his sketchbook and starts drawing. I get mine out too.
Bo smiles, but the air around her is so heavy it’s hard to breathe.
“This is why I stopped playing sports, you know,” she says. Amber touches Bo’s shoulder.
“School dances, too. It’s exhausting always having to be aware of whether you’re being too much yourself for other people’s comfort. People can be such assholes sometimes. I always had to be so conscious of how I came across after I came out. Like, never look at anyone in the locker rooms and stuff. Every girl thought I had a crush on them. It’s like, I can’t possibly be crushing on every single girl I’ve ever met, right? I might have liked Jenna, though. I think she knew.” Bo puts her head down. She has no idea how real that is for me. Jenna is Bo’s Bianca, I think.
“In lak’ech,” I say without thinking. I hang around Cesar too much.
“What?” Bo asks.
“Um, it’s kind of like saying ‘I understand you.’” I don’t want Bo to know it’s basically my and Cesar’s way of saying “same.” It’s a simplified explanation, but it’s not exactly a lie. Just like my whole existence at Slayton.
9
Thou Shalt Not Self-Sabotage
Up until now, Cesar has managed to convince Mom not to go to his “games.” The lie has worked seamlessly the last few weeks. Mom’s usually pretty busy with work, so she’s been fine not going, but she still cheers him on and wishes him luck on game days. She even goes so far as to make him game-day breakfasts with chorizo chilaquiles and papas with a spicy aroma that smells like guilt, for me at least.
Usually when Mom shows interest in actually going to a game, I remind her how many orders we need to fill, and we get to work. But this is the homecoming game, so jewelry making isn’t going to get us out of it. Of course, that means Jamal wants to be there, too. Who knew watching your real boyfriend crash and burn could be a romantic activity with your fake girlfriend?
Tonight’s game will be the first time Bo—and the rest of Slayton—will see me wearing my own clothes, so naturally I’ve been planning my outfit for weeks. Black sandals, a red off-the-shoulder romper, and one of my mom’s handmade necklaces. The black, yellow, and red beads hang from the base of my neck, covering my clavicle with an angular pattern, almost making the necklace look like it’s a part of the romper. I look cute as hell, if I do say so myself. I wonder what Bo wears when she’s not in her uniform. . . .
As my mom and I drive to the game, I still have no idea what Cesar is going to do. He’s been really hush-hush about his “plan,” which means either he doesn’t have one, or it’s so brilliant he wants to surprise us. I convince Mom to let us sit at the back of the bleachers, since there’s fewer people. Really, it’s because I needed an excuse to have a worse view of not-Cesar playing football, just in case. I’m probably more anxious about it than he is, considering my mom’s track record. If he doesn’t sell it, she’ll kill both of us. But especially me. I pretend to be jittery because of the late October wind, and not for fear of my mom’s wrath. Still, I have to admit it’s kind of nice spending time with her without having to worry about jewelry orders for once.
Bo and Amber find us when the band comes out, drums and trumpets blaring.
“Yami, hi!” Amber yells over the noise, hugging me. She steps aside, revealing Bo’s fine self behind her. Bo’s hair has been tamed into a low ponytail that shows off a single cross earring, and she’s wearing a floral button-up shirt tied off at the waist with cuffed jeans. Eleven out of ten. I can’t help but notice her taking in my outfit, too. I yell over the music before anyone notices me checking Bo out, or her （maybe?） checking me out.
“Amber, Bo, this is my mom and Jamal, my, uh . . . boyfriend.” I still don’t like lying to them about Jamal, but I can’t explain the situation without outing Cesar.