“I’m fine. I’ll come get you tomorrow.” I enunciate as clearly as I can to prove my point, but he and Amber are both too messed up to stop me. I make my way straight through everyone without saying bye or acknowledging a single one of them.
“La mee-grah, la mee-grah!” Say My Name in Spanish guy calls out to me in a forced accent, and cracks himself up. La migra—immigration. As if it wasn’t obvious to everyone else already that it was only the two Mexican kids who ran at the first sign of cops.
I turn around and walk straight toward him, fists clenched. If Cesar heard him, he would have clocked him in his throat. He didn’t hear, but someone needs to punch this guy. I don’t feel in control of myself right now. It feels like a dream, and I’m outside my own body watching myself march up to him and punch him right in the nose.
“OHHHHHHH!!!!” a bunch of guys yell when he falls to the ground and doesn’t get up. Two of them bow down to me, like they’re grateful I just laid out their friend. I turn back around and keep walking.
I think Hunter is trying to call out for me as I pass, but I keep going. I feel everyone staring at me. I don’t stop, and they part for me like the Red Sea. When I make it to the privacy of my mom’s car, I realize that if I drive right now, I might not make it home. I don’t think I could walk a straight line, let alone drive in one.
I’ll wait.
It’s hard to sit and wait without getting in your head too much. I try focusing on the distant pulsing sensation in my hand, instead of thinking about the alternatives. Like Junior getting his head smashed into the cement. His mom getting deported. My dad getting deported . . .
I miss my dad so much. I miss his hugs, and his constant reassurance that I was going to turn out okay. When I was little, I could go to him about anything. He would build me up and turn me right back around to face whatever. I want to tell him about tonight. About the cops, and that I punched someone. I want to tell him about Bo, and our fight. And that I like her even though she has a girlfriend and thinks I’m straight.
What would I have to lose by coming out to my dad, anyway? Even if he hates me for it, it’s not like I’m relying on him to survive like I am with my mom. He would never hate me, though. He’ll probably make this whole thing a lot easier. He’ll know exactly what to say to make me stop feeling like such a piece of shit. I send him two texts. Two things I wish I had the strength to say more often.
Yami: I love you.
Yami: I’m gay.
I know you’re not supposed to call or text anyone when you’re drunk, but I’ve been wanting to tell him for so long. I guess I’m worse at being straight than I thought. I couldn’t even keep it up for one night. Not even a few hours. But I already feel better knowing I can talk to my dad about it soon.
While I’m making drunk confessions, I might as well call Bo. No way I’m going to regret this tomorrow. I get her voice mail, which sober me would have taken as an act of kindness from God himself. But drunk me doesn’t give a shit about second chances from the universe. I leave a message.
“Um . . . hi.” I pause for way too long. “I punched someone. It was cool, I guess. You may be surprised to hear it was my first time inflicting violence on another human.” I don’t know why I’m talking so proper. Maybe to make the idea of punching someone in the face sound less violent. It doesn’t last, though.
“Am I a scary person, do you think? I think people assume I’m more scrappier than I am. Oh, the party sucked. I should have stayed with you. If I wasn’t such a dick, maybe you would have let me stay there instead. That would have been better, I think. I just wanna say, you don’t make me uncomfortable. I make me uncomfortable. You’re a cool person. You’re soooo cool and pretty and funny and way too good for me. Your girlfriend is soooooo lucky. Please, Bo, you need to stop doing your cute eye smile thing to me, because I’m literally dying inside. Fuck you, seriously, you’re ruining everything. I like you a lot, do you know that? I don’t think you get it. I liiiiike you! I like being with you. I mean, not with you, with you. Obviously. Because I’m straight, remember?” I start laughing, and I can’t stop. My laugh is worse than my mom’s right now.