“Ayy, that’s her, huh?” Cesar says.
“Um, yeah.” I know he means Bo, but I don’t feel like explaining the situation. I still haven’t told him what happened with Bianca. I can’t deal with his questions right now, so I lie.
“All right, you can go now,” he says, and I laugh.
“Are you kicking me out?”
“Yes. Go talk to your girl.”
I grab my phone, rush back to my room, and sit on my bed, staring at the I miss you . . . on my screen.
I know it’s not an apology. But it feels good. I’m not smiling because she texted me, I’m smiling because she misses me. I know she never felt the same way about me, but damn it feels good to know she’s thinking about me. I feel like I won. Because she’s thinking about me, and I’m thinking about someone else. Someone better.
I think I’ll leave her hanging.
The dots show up on my screen that say she’s typing again. I used to respond to her right away, so she’s not used to waiting. It’s a minute before another message shows up.
Bianca: *as a friend
I could give myself a migraine from rolling my eyes so hard. Why the fuck would she feel the need to add that? It’s like throwing in my face that she’s uncomfortable with the fact that I’m gay. I wasn’t going to respond, but my fingers are already furiously typing away. The adrenaline rush is unreal.
Yami: First of all
Yami: bitch
The dots show up again, but I keep typing and send a few more messages before her response shows up.
Yami: I do not miss you
Yami: Second
Yami: Kindly, kiss my ass.
Yami: *as a friend
I block her number before she can respond.
15
Thou Shalt Not Adulate False Idols
I spend the next week so focused on making jewelry for the second mercado that the last days of school before winter break fly by. I work on the mercado jewelry while Mom works on the Etsy orders. It’s kind of perfect. I’m almost tempted to ask her to come with me to the mercado this time, but I know that would put her way behind. She won’t have my help filling orders this weekend because of the mercado, so I really just need to suck it up and go without her. I keep my hands busy beading, not bothering to check my phone when it buzzes. Before, I would jump every time I heard it on the off chance it was my dad texting, but I’ve given up on that now. He’s not talking to me . . . whatever. Maybe one day I’ll process what that actually means for me, but for now all I have to keep me from breaking are distractions.
While the rest of Slayton is on break as of our last class earlier today, I’m working harder than ever. It’s my last chance at the mercado, but I’m not optimistic about it. If it wasn’t for that one viejita last time, I wouldn’t have sold more than three things the whole day. Even though I barely slept, I’m still up when it reaches four a.m., stressing about the rest of the day.
Something falls in the living room, and I’m on my feet and grabbing at the metal bat hanging from the bathroom door before my brain processes what I’m doing. Our neighbors got robbed while they were out of town for the summer, but it takes a ballsy robber to break into a house that has a car parked outside. I creep into the hallway, gripping the bat so tight my hands hurt. Mami wouldn’t want me putting myself out there like this, but I’m not trying to get robbed. Not when I need that jewelry for the mercado today. Having something to lose makes me braver. I get to the edge of the hallway, ready to swing at an intruder, when I hear a footstep right outside the hall. I wind up and jump out.
And swing right at my brother’s head.