I’m choking so hard I can’t even laugh.
Jamal springs off the bed like a cat from a snake. He wildly shakes off all his limbs and makes a gagging noise. Cesar slaps my back while I gasp for air, but he’s laughing too hard to be any help.
When Jamal finds a soggy marshmallow stuck to his shirt, he screeches and flings it at Cesar. And that starts a war I want no part of, so I sneak back to my room while they throw hopefully uneaten marshmallows at each other.
They are the weirdest couple I’ve ever seen. I’m so jealous.
When I go back to my room, I try to keep from checking my phone. Dad has taken over a week to “process,” and I’m trying not to freak out about it. I guess he needs a little more time. It’s fine, though. I’m fine.
My dad and I have gone longer than this without talking, but it’s not like him not to respond at all. Usually it only takes a couple of days. I brainstorm all the logical reasons he might not have responded.
Maybe something happened to his phone, and he never got my text. Maybe he needs time to come up with a heartfelt response. Maybe I’m overreacting.
“Has anyone seen my phone?” Mom calls out much louder than she needs to.
“Nope!” I shout as her phone’s screen goes black while I hold the power button and hide it in an old shoebox in my closet. One can hope, but I don’t trust that I have the luxury of believing Dad’s old promises of confidentiality. Maybe he’s just busy, but maybe he hates me. At least now he won’t be able to tell Mom.
I can’t stand not knowing what he’s thinking or if he even saw my text. I get out my phone to take a video on Marco Polo to send him.
“Hey, Papi . . . I don’t know if you got my text before. I hope we’re still good. I’m just having a hard time, and I miss you. Let me know. Love you.”
I send it. Dad always told me to prepare for the worst and hope for the best.
I force myself to take a breath and think. The worst-case scenario would be getting kicked out. I wish I could talk about it with Cesar, but he’s always with Jamal, and I don’t want to bum them out, especially since it’s exactly what Jamal’s going through right now.
There’s no time to be sad if I focus on logistics. Mom will think she lost her phone, and that’ll buy me some time to figure out what to do if Dad wants to tell her about me being gay. Honestly, she’s such a busy mess right now with work and jewelry stuff, she’ll barely miss it.
If he does find a way to tell her, I’ll deny it. It’ll be his word against mine, and I have a fake boyfriend to back me up. But . . . in case that doesn’t work, I should probably get another job as a backup plan. It’s not like I can support myself with this jewelry stuff if Mom disowns me.
I shove my anxiety as far down as it’ll go and focus on solutions. I need to start on job applications. Just in case. After a quick Google search, I figure out how to beef up my résumé and make myself sound a lot more experienced than I am. Apparently I’m a “social media and marketing manager” for my mom. Plus, I have creative, organizational, and time management skills from this jewelry job. That should get me in the door somewhere.
Jamal has more than overstayed the “few days” Mom gave him, but she hasn’t made him leave yet. Even after a couple of weeks, she hasn’t acknowledged it. At least not in front of me. But I don’t think it’ll last much longer, since Mom is definitely not looking to adopt another kid. I sometimes want to talk to Jamal about what happened when he got kicked out, but it’s such a sensitive subject for him that I can’t bring myself to ask. We’re not close enough, and it’s way out of my lane. I mind my own business, just like I want other people to mind theirs.
As far as Jamal knows, I’m just doing him and Cesar a favor. Pretending to be his girlfriend is actually a lot of fun. Probably because I know he isn’t interested. It’s good practice for me, too. And Cesar gets a little jealous of me, which adds to the appeal.