Avra's God (7 page)

Meredith, Kristyl, Megan, and Jenna
surrounded Jesse, laughing at one of his jokes. He looked up and
saw Kallie across the breezeway, hurt and questions swimming in her
eyes. Jenna poked him in the ribs, smiled at him with straight
white teeth, and made him feel ten feet tall. He turned his back on
Kallie.
How does rejection feel, Kal?
Guilt pinpricked the
back of his neck. He knew she would be gone when he looked
around.

Kallie hunched against the wind, heading for
home. Dark clouds raced across the sky
. I’ll be your friend.
I’ll listen for your soul in your music. But I will never be one of
your bobbleheads, Jesse Wayne Koomer.

She didn’t hear Jesse approach. The
maroon—faded almost to pink—of Jesse’s Neon rolled into her line of
vision. Her stomach clenched.

Jesse leaned his head out the window into the
wind. “Hey.”

She picked up her pace. “Hi.” She nestled
deeper into her windbreaker, her shoulders stiff, jaw clenched.

Jesse inched the car after her. “I wrote you
a song last night.”

Kallie stopped. Her mouth dropped open and
she stared at Jesse. Her anger rushed out and whipped away in the
wind. “No one has ever written a song for me before.”

He took a CD from his jacket pocket.
“Here.”

She looked at him, holding a handful of hair
out of her face. “A CD?”

He laughed sheepishly. “Yeah. I wanted you to
hear my tone of voice. Don’t be too hard on me.”

Kallie’s fingers closed around the CD.

Jesse leaned over to push the door open for
her. “Get in.”

“I’ll walk.” She crossed her arms. She didn’t
know why, but walking in a storm felt safer right now than the dry
interior of Jesse’s car.

Jesse pressed his lips together in a thin
line. A second ticked by and he pulled forward.

She watched him weave back onto the street in
the wet wind. The CD burned in her palm.

Avra climbed out of her teammate Tatum’s
Honda, dragging her soccer bag. The sweat had long dried on her
skin. Her ponytail lay limp on her neck.
Shower. Food. Bed.
She seriously worked too hard for the city soccer league.

Cisco sat on the porch swing alone.
Odd.
“Hey, Avra.”

“Cisco.”

Cisco leaned his elbows across his knees. The
swing creaked. “Got a minute?”

“Now?”

“No, I was thinkin’ like the middle of next
week.”

She perched on the wide porch railing across
from him.

He motioned toward the other end of the
swing. “No, sit here. Don’t look too excited about it or
anything.”

She blew out her breath. “I just played a
complete game of soccer, and I need a shower. What do you
want?”

“Maybe this isn’t a good time. It’ll keep
till you’re not so crabby.”

“I’m
not
crabby. Out with it.”

Cisco stared at his hands, steepling and
unsteepling his fingers. “Tomorrow.”

“Cisco!”

“My timing is a little off.” Cisco hesitated,
then plunged ahead. “Would you be interested in spending time with
me—like, just the two of us? I mean like dating? Of course, I don’t
have money, so it wouldn’t
be
dating, but maybe something
more than going together in high school? Like maybe, hold hands
while the sun sets on the beach, climb trees at the park, watch the
automated garbage truck do its thing on Saturday mornings?” He
glanced up at Avra from his hands that still held his attention.
“Well? Say something.”

Her eyes widened, shock and adrenaline
coursing through her body. “Garbage truck?”

“Don’t knock it till you’ve seen it.”

Reality washed over her and quenched the
adrenaline. She looked at the deep purple croton leaves growing
beside the porch. “Girls like me don’t interest guys like you.”

Cisco screwed up his face in a comical grin.
“Oh, I’m interested, all right. And I asked your dad if it was
okay—your brothers told me that’s how things are done around
here.”

Her face felt like a furnace. “Wow.” Did her
brothers mention that “things” had never been done around here?
“What did my dad say?”

“He asked me a bunch of questions about my
spiritual beliefs, and he said that if I ever laid a hand on you,
he’d break it off. But he said ‘Yeah.’“

“My dad said he’d break your hand?”

Cisco smiled crookedly. “Yeah, pretty
much.”

She couldn’t imagine.

“So, will you think about it?”

She smiled dazedly, with cheeks that had gone
Novocain-numb . “Yeah ...” He wanted to go out with her—not just
once, but long-term. It felt like all the Christmases of her life
balled into one.

He leaned over and kissed her cheek.
“Thanks.”

Maybe not so numb. She felt his breath
somewhere near her ear. She smelled soap.

“Mmm ... that was nice. See ya around,” he
said, his confident self returning.

She covered her cheek with her hand and
watched Cisco jog down the steps and around the corner of the
house.

Kallie pressed “play” and listened to
Spinnin’ on a Kiss,
for the fifth time. She’d waited till
Aly went to Electra’s and her mother to Winn Dixie. Jesse’s voice
washed over her. She absently fingered the piano keys in the living
room, picking out the notes.

We’re spinnin’ on a kiss, girl.

Don’t wanna take a chance.

I wanna know you’re gonna be there

Walkin’ ’round in my soul
.

You’re sweetness and edginess,

The muse in my veins.

You’re the song I’ve yet to sing,

The harmony hued to my heart.

We’re spinnin’ on a kiss, girl.

Don’t wanna take a chance.

I wanna know you’re gonna be there

Walkin’ ’round in my soul.

Don’t wanna break your heart, girl.

Don’t want you body and soul.

Just wanna be your friend, maybe your best
friend.

Don’t wanna say good-bye. I wanna hang
on.

She pressed “eject.” She mattered to Jesse.
He felt their connection the same way she did. He didn’t want to
lose it any more than she did. She held the CD in her hand, staring
at the words written with blue marker in Jesse’s tidy, slanted
printing.
Don’t give up on us.
She was safe now.

The notes of the song faded. Avra hit the
power button to shut down the band’s sound board.

“Quitting time,” Jesse yelled.

Cisco vaulted off the stage and moved up the
aisle toward Avra. “‘Bout time. Been working on one dang song the
whole afternoon.”

Jesse squatted on the stage to put his guitar
in its case. “Quit your griping. You’ll be happy when all the girls
go wild over that tune.”

Cisco bent over the soundboard and whispered
in Avra’s ear, “I’m only thinking about one girl.”

Avra’s stomach somersaulted. They had to
talk. Soon.

“Hey, Billy,” Jesse said, “don’t forget to
break down the keyboard and haul it back to the music room.”

Billy dropped his backpack and dismantled the
keyboard. “Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

Avra grabbed her bag, ran her hand along the
last row of auditorium seats, and stepped out into the glaring
sun.

Cisco leaned against the building, waiting.
He shoved off the wall and fell in step with her.

She had rehearsed this speech in her head a
hundred times. “Um ...”

“Come on, girl, spit it out. You’ve left me
hanging for three days already. So, do you like me—maybe just a
little—enough to give me a shot?”

“Of course I like you. I like you a lot. I’m
just having a hard time believing that you’re into me.”

Cisco paused and turned toward her. “Why?” He
seemed so serious.

“Because good-looking, popular guys don’t go
for girls like me.” She looked him in the eye, daring him to
disagree. Her gaze dropped to the sidewalk.

Cisco stopped and nudged her chin up with his
knuckles. A thin, light brown ring separated the dark brown from
his pupils. The back of his hand pressed against the tender skin
below her chin. “I always thought beauty came from the inside.
¿Sí?”

Queen Palms rustled overhead.

She lifted the corners of her mouth.
“Yes.”

Cisco dropped his hand. “You have the bluest
eyes I’ve ever seen. And your hair always looks so soft. Notice how
I pull it every chance I get?” He reached over and tugged at her
hair, rubbed it between his fingers, and smiled. “You’re pretty on
the outside too. I don’t know why you can’t see it.”

She blushed.

“Look at me,” Cisco said. “I’m average—not
buff. I got the Cuban skin, the white dreads—”

“Not dreads.”

“Kinks, whatever——I can’t remember what color
they are because I’ve baked in the sun, like, my whole life.”

“Okay, so you’re average.”
Or you think
you are, anyway
. “Are you going to tell me you’re not
popular?”

He held his arms out. “Nah. I got this
personality. Folks love it. What can I say?”

“Regardless, you could have any girl you
want. Fact.”

Cisco’s gaze fastened on her chin, her ear.
“... Fact.”

“So, what do you want from me?”

“I already told you, to
go out
.” Cisco
said as though she were slow-witted.

“No, I mean—popular guy—Miss Nobody.” She
held her hands out as though weighing the two. “If you’re looking
for someone to sleep with, that’s not going to be me.”

Cisco kicked a rock. It skittered down the
sidewalk and into the dirt. “Okay, so I thought about it.” Cisco
held up his hands to stop her from reacting. “But, ask any guy on
campus. It’s pretty much all we think about.”

“Really?” She asked, incredulous.

“Yeah.” Cisco looked away. “I’m not liking
this honesty stuff—”

“My brothers?”

“Yeah. They’re male. Ask them.”

“I’ll pass.”

“Look, I promised your dad I wouldn’t touch
you.”

They stopped at Cisco’s Geo and he opened the
door for her. “You think I’m, like, out of your league or
something.” He shut the door after she got in and leaned on the
window frame. “But you’ve got it wrong. You’re outta my league.” He
climbed in and gunned the engine. “I’ll prove it to you.”

In New Smyrna Beach, Cisco went past her
street and headed west on State Route 44. He whipped around the
corner of Milford. At a brick duplex, identical to every house on
the block, Cisco pulled across the mostly dirt area in front of the
house. A junk car with the hood up filled half the yard. He threw
open the warped front door. A girl in a towel and hot rollers
shrieked and let out a string of angry Spanish.

Cisco pulled Avra into the room and kicked
the door shut with his foot.
“
¡Callaté!
Can’t you see I have a friend here?”

The girl disappeared down the hall.

Another girl near Avra’s age stood in the
small kitchen holding a box of macaroni and cheese.

“Su novia está gringa
,”
the younger girl said.

Cisco leveled a dirty look at the girl.
“
¡Vaca!
Talk English. Be polite. Carmen, this is Avra. Avra,
Carmen. The sister in the towel was Arjélia.”

“Hola
.” Carmen flashed a fake smile at
Avra.

“Uh, hi.”

Cisco pointed. “Kitchen.” Dirty dishes piled
high in the sink. Cereal boxes, their plastic bags protruding,
littered the Formica table. The counters overflowed with junk mail,
a discarded box of hair dye, random car parts.

He motioned down the short dark hall. “Mamá’s
room on the left; bathroom, center; sisters’ room on the right.” He
flung an arm toward the couch. “My room.”

The pile of the olive green carpet had been
flattened from use and needed vacuuming. Two laundry baskets of
rumpled clothes sat on the floor. Avra recognized the plaid of a
button-down shirt she’d seen Cisco wear.

Cisco bowed at the waist and waved his arm
around the room.
“
Mí
casa es
su
casa
.
My house is
your house.” He glanced at the yellow skillet-shaped clock on the
kitchen wall. “I better get you home in time for supper.” He let
Avra out ahead of him and called over his shoulder, “Save me some
mac and cheese.”

“Sí, hermano.”

Cisco slammed the door and a brown paint chip
fell to the stoop. He let fly a Spanish word that was probably
better not translated.

She stopped Cisco with a hand to his wrist.
“Thanks for taking me to your house. I appreciate that you want me
to see your life.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not done. No point meeting
Mamá. She’s refused to speak English since she and Pops split.”

“You don’t have to do this.”

“Yes, I do. You’re a logical girl. You’ve
gotta have all the facts about who I am and where I come from.
Then, you can make a decision on this thing.” He motioned between
the two of them. “Tomorrow, you’re meeting Pops.”

“Okay, we’ll do it your way.” Something
inside Avra woke up—as though from a deep sleep—uncurled, and
warmed in the sun.

Cisco wheeled the Geo up to the back of the
boatyard’s tin building, sending a puff of dust out over the river.
While Cisco came around to let her out, Avra eyed the old glue on
the roof of the car where the lining had been. Of course, there
was
no door handle on the inside of the passenger door—he
had
to let her out. Avra smiled.

Around the corner of the huge boathouse,
Freedom’s Call
bobbed beside the seawall.

“Columbia 24,” Cisco said, a catch of respect
in his voice, “nineteen seventy. Pops lives aboard.”

A man with a buzz cut, deep tan, and thick
biceps unsnapped the sail covers as they walked up to the boat. He
looked up and his face brightened. “Francisco!” He leapt the two
feet of water onto the cement of the seawall. “Son, it’s been too
long.” He hugged Cisco, who fell back a step.