Before You (8 page)

O
rdinarily I'd be removed from school grounds for a fight, but this isn't a normal suspension. One strike; not yet out. I get shoved in the library—where Faith and her friends are hanging out in the back, talking about me.

Faith is laughing so loud, she doesn't hear me approach. Then they get serious, and I can tell by Faith's tone that she's upset about something they said.

When did I start differentiating between her tones?

And now I'm standing here, wondering how I get myself into these messes.

Oh well. Might as well be the jerk she thinks I am. It's easier that way.

I sneak up behind her, lower myself to the ground, and whisper in her ear. “Did you miss me?”

All three of them jump and turn at the same time.

Her eyes. Her mouth. Her hands. Distracting.

Focus.

Faith looks too shocked for words. Her friend, I think Faith called her Melissa, stands up immediately. She grabs the other girl's arm and tells her there's something she needs to show her. They walk away.

I hate to admit it—because I definitely had the friend, Melissa, pegged as the fake type—but I think she might actually be cool. From the bits and pieces of conversation I've overheard, she seems nicer than I gave her credit for. Makes me wonder what she's doing hanging out with predictable, uptight Faith.

But while I'm being honest, I have to say that Faith has also shown a feisty side. Clearly not often enough, but it's there nonetheless. Every time I see a glimpse of Feisty Faith, she locks herself back up as if she's securing an inner demon.

I know all about demons.

With my nearness, Faith's breath hitches. I can't help the small grin that pulls at my face. I move closer.

“So,” I say again, “did you miss me?”

She blinks. Her breathing goes back to normal.

“Yeah,” she answers. She stands. I stand, as well.

Did Faith just say that she missed me?

She leans against a bookshelf and reaches a hand to my shirt, pulls me to her, our bodies almost touching.

I look around to see if I'm being tricked, but there's no one in sight.

Faith presses one finger against my cheek and turns my head back to her. “Did you miss me, too?” she asks in a soft voice.

“What?”

“I think you did”—she pauses to lick her bottom lip—“Diego.”

Those lips,
ay
, those lips.

Hearing my name come out of her mouth like that messes me all up. This was not part of the plan. And now I can't help myself. I can't look away. My will has dissolved.

“What's going on?” I ask, unable to keep my eyes off her rosebud mouth.

“I'm letting down my defenses,” she answers. “That's what you want, right?”

I inch closer.

What is she doing to me?

Of its own accord, my hand reaches for the sensitive spot at the base of her neck above her collarbone. I trace a finger along the dip and my heart thrums faster. Her skin is so soft. I imagine what it would be like to kiss her there.

I drop my hand. I should not be thinking about kissing Faith.

She doesn't back away. Instead, she tilts her chin up, giving me a better view, almost like she wants me to touch her again. A small sigh escapes my lips.

“
Mami
, you should stop,” I half-suggest, half-groan. But I'm not sure that I want her to stop.

“What if I don't want to?”

She's still clutching my shirt. I wrap my hand around her wrist and pull it down to her waist. Under my fingertips her blood pulses fast, a one-way train on a track bound for collision.

I should walk away. This has gone too far. And yet, not far enough. It's dangerous. I don't trust the feelings surging through my veins. I try to reason that it's no big deal, that she's just like any other girl. Too bad I'm immune to my own lies.

Do I really want to do this with Faith Watters?

Surprisingly, the answer is clear.

Yes.

“Diego?” she says.

“Yeah?”

“Will you do something for me?” Faith asks.

At this point? Anything.

“Maybe,” I say.

“Tell me what you think of me,” she requests.

One look into her eyes confirms that I'm losing control. I swallow, wait.

Faith sees my hesitance and moves on. “Is everything with me a game to you?” she asks.

I watch the way her lips move. Confident. In control. The way I used to be twenty seconds ago.

“No,” I answer. Like this, right now. Not a game. I am truthfully coming undone.

“I know you heard what I said at the restaurant. Do you think I'm hot, too?”

Her shirt rises slightly, exposing a glimpse of hip bone. The bone juts out just a tad. I wonder how it would feel against me. Would it fit perfectly? Would it poke, prod?

“Yes,” I answer.

“Last one,” she says. “If I kiss you right now, will you pull away?”

“You'll have to find out,” I reply.

Faith leans into me and I can smell her lip gloss. My head dips, waiting, wanting. She comes within an inch of my lips. My mouth parts.

I can't take it anymore. I have to close the gap, but right before I do, she whispers another word.

“Psych.”

I
pulled it off. I beat Diego at his own game.

To say he's shocked would be an understatement. He's embarrassed. And angry. Really angry. I knew he would be. But there's something else there, too, and I'd be willing to bet money that the emotion I see in his eyes is excitement.

He mumbles something under his breath. It sounds like thunder rumbling before a storm. I don't speak Spanish so I can't say for sure what he just called me.

But I have an idea.

“Aw,” I say with a triumphant grin. “Don't be mad.”

Victory is a pile of happiness, and I'm rolling around in it.

For a second I think maybe he'll kiss me anyway, but he turns away as though nothing happened. His back muscles are taut beneath his thin shirt, each one dipping and curving like a road map to the unknown.

Leading Diego on was out of character for me, but I couldn't stand his cockiness any longer. Maybe besting Diego will knock his ego down a few notches.

We're lucky no one saw us—not that many people come to this part of the library anyhow. I can't deny my nervousness, but even though I'm out of my realm, I relish watching Diego squirm.

“So,” Diego says nonchalantly. “What's with the boxes?”

He's obviously going to pretend nothing happened. That's fine—no matter how he acts on the outside, I know that I had an effect on him. He's not as tough and closed off as he seems.

“The boxes are filled with books for the—” I pause, realizing I have no idea why Diego is in the library in the first place. “Why are you here?”

He pulls out a yellow slip.

“You're kidding, right?” I ask.

“Nope.” He smiles.

So many firecrackers go off inside me all at once. Because of one smile. He's stealing his way into me and I don't appreciate it. Not one bit.

“But the punishment for fighting is out-of-school suspension for two days,” I say. “How did you—”

“Yeah, well, tell that to the guidance counselor who apparently thinks it's more of a punishment to make me work around the school during the day than sit at home.”

Probably right, but still. Did she have to stick him with the book fair organizing committee? Of all the detention assignments she could've given him. Figures.

“Wonderful,” I say sarcastically. “So how long do we have the honor of hanging out with Mr. Dauntless?”

He laughs. “Is that what I'll be known as? 'Cause I gotta admit, it has a nice ring.”

I grimace. Here we go again.

“Or maybe it's something you want to keep private. Just between you and me,” he says.

You and me. Me and you.

“Let's get one thing straight,” I say. “There is no you and me. Never will be.”

Diego is confusing me; right now he looks one part serious, one part mischievous. I can't tell if he actually thinks he has a chance with me, or if he seriously enjoys irritating me. Probably both.

“Haven't you heard the saying, ‘never say never'?” he asks.

“Haven't you heard the saying, ‘back off'?”

Diego isn't fazed. His shirt is still crinkled where I grabbed it. The thought makes me blush, red ink spilling over my skin, spreading to my chest, my shoulders. I don't want to admit how good he felt against me.

“I won't wait forever, Faith,” he teases. “Plenty of willing
chicas
at this school.”

“Great,” I say. “Why don't you go out with them, then?” I mean to smirk but it feels more like a grimace.

He smiles. “Maybe I will.”

Don't look into his eyes.

“How long is your detention?” I ask.

“Ten days,” Diego answers. “And since your committee meets three times a week, it looks like I'll be around for a while. Though if anyone cares, I still vote for the two-day, out-of-school suspension. Seems like a better punishment.”

A safer punishment, for sure.

Melissa and Lori turn the corner. I give my best friend a look that tells her I'm going to kill her later. She grins.

“Hey, Diego,” Melissa says. “I don't think we've officially met.”

He turns to her.

“I'm Melissa, and this is Lori.”

“Nice to meet you both,” he says.

Melissa takes a moment to check Diego out, a pleased look on her face. My stomach churns, some unnamed emotion clawing its way in, pinching, stabbing. Diego notices her appraisal. He's relaxed, used to the attention, it seems.

“So,” Melissa says, “what's up?” She's looking at us like she's trying to figure out why Diego is in the library.

“Nothing much.” Diego shoots me a mischievous look. “Just trying to get Faith to go out with me.”

I make a choking noise.

Melissa laughs. “Oh yeah?”

“She has a boyfriend,” Lori says.

“I know,” Diego replies, then leans closer to them. “But between you and me, I don't think it will last. She's not really into him. It's just part of her image, you see.”

I am absolutely aware that my mouth is hanging open.

Melissa is beaming, seven thousand rays of approval. It's almost blinding. “Good luck with that,” she says.

I am finding a new best friend. Stat.

Lori clears her throat. “Well, as interesting as this is, we have to get back to work.”

“Great.” Diego smiles, knowing he's embarrassed me just as much as I embarrassed him a few moments ago. “Where should I start?” he asks.

“Start?” Melissa asks, and then notices the yellow slip in his hands. Understanding crosses her face. “Oh”—she laughs—“oh my God.”

“The way I see it,” Diego says, “I have ten days to help you ladies with your book fair. That gives me ten days to convince Faith to dump that boyfriend of hers and drop the mask.”

I don't understand how Diego, of all people, sees through me. Why can't he buy the façade like the rest of Oviedo High School?

Because he doesn't wear blinders.

No, with him I'm on display. Like an X-ray, he sees through the clothes and pain and lies.

“But, honestly, I don't think it'll take that long.” Diego smirks. “I give it a week, tops, before she's in my arms.”

I plaster on a hard face, looking directly into his eyes as I answer him.

“I'll take that bet.”

A
fter detention,
mi padre
and I make an appearance at Javier's house. This house is warmth and understanding and everything right. It feels good to be around
mi familia
. There is no shortage of relatives in
la casa de mi tía
Ria
.
Javier is one of twelve kids. Even though I'm an only child, I've never felt like one. I spent a lot of time at Aunt Ria's growing up. First in Cuba. Then in the States after they moved here five years ago. Technically, it's Uncle Dimitri's house, but everyone knows that Aunt Ria really runs the place.

“Diego!
¿Cómo estás?
” Aunt Ria asks. She's wearing an apron like always, as though it's an extension of her skin.

“I'm good. How are you?”

Aunt Ria is a short, petite woman with long black hair and crazy skills in the kitchen. Sometimes it amazes me that she could have given birth to so many kids. But what Aunt Ria lacks in size, she more than makes up for in personality. Her attitude reminds me of the poblano peppers she loves—spicy, sure to leave a lasting impression.

Aunt Ria wraps me in a hug,
tsk
ing when she pulls back and sees my purple bull's-eye shiner. She doesn't ask questions, though. Probably because she's seen a lot worse in the past.

“Come in, come in,” she says, opening the door wider.

I say hello to my uncle next, an older version of Javier. While Uncle Dimitri and Aunt Ria say hello to
mi padre
, I make my way inside.

The house is small for all the people who live here. Of the twelve kids, nine are boys. One room belongs to Aunt Ria and Uncle Dimitri, one room to the girls, and the remaining three rooms are split among the boys. Each room has enough space for three twin-sized beds and shelves for clothes. It sure beats life in Cuba.

In the kitchen, I find the girls. They squeal when they see me. Their names are Maria, Tatiana, and Alejandra—fourteen, twelve, and nine years old. I greet them and offer to help with the cooking. They turn me away, telling me I have too many people to visit. I thank them and stick my hand inside a large brown bowl filled with tortilla chips, eating a few as I go.

The screen door is open and I find the boys outside. They range in age from twenty down to four, with two sets of twins. Javier sees me and runs over.

“
¿Que pasa?
” he asks.

“Not much,” I answer.

The guys are playing soccer, which is hard for them to do in the small backyard, but they manage. I greet the rest of
mi familia
and join the game. Just like old times.

Images flash through my head. My mind is suddenly a fast-paced scrapbook of snapshots. Cuba. Home. Soccer. Finding my first soccer ball. The feeling of scoring the winning goal.

Florida is different. Grass instead of dirt, clothes instead of rags. But soccer all the same.

Uncle Dimitri moved his family here with nothing but the clothes on their backs and hope for a better life. His first job paid under the table. Immigration was difficult. They required Uncle Dimitri to memorize U.S. laws, pay court document fees, and take a bunch of tests. Once he passed, the U.S. government gave him a temporary visa. Fortunately his family didn't have to endure the same thing. As his wife and children, they were automatically added to his visa. Only then did he get a legal job, get promoted. Buy a house. After my cousins moved to the States,
mi padre, mi madre,
and I visited them every summer. That's how I learned English. Seventeen people in one small house was craziness, but I always looked forward to it the next year.

Sometimes I wonder why
mi padre
didn't get us out of Cuba sooner.

“Dinner's ready,” Aunt Ria calls from the kitchen.

We go inside and wash up. Since the table isn't big enough to fit everyone, some of us take a seat on the couch, some on bar stools, and some on patio chairs. I sit outside with Javier and two of his brothers. Eduardo and Pedro are identical twins, two years older than Javier and me.

“What's happenin', Diego?” Eduardo asks.

He and Pedro look like Javier, but with shorter hair. I take a moment to soak in the subtle differences that time has given them: longer chins, darker freckles, more carefree smiles. Their features are sharper, mature. But also more relaxed, as though living in the States has rounded the edges. The line that used to constantly furrow their brows is not as defined. They seem happier.

I wonder what I would see in the mirror if I actually looked close enough.

“
Nada,
” I answer.

“Look at your face,” Pedro says, laughing. “Already gettin' in trouble, I see.”

“
Cállate la boca
,” I reply. “It's tough gettin' used to America.”

Aunt Ria brings plates, heavy with pork, white rice, black beans with finely chopped poblano peppers mixed in, and plantains. I take a bite of
maduros,
sweet fried plantains, and suddenly my mind is in Cuba again.

I am nine years old, laughing and playing, chasing a raggedy stray dog that took to me for some reason. I have a
maduro
in my hand, a rare occasion back then. It's not like I fed the dog; I barely had enough food to eat myself, but he liked me nonetheless. I pop the fried plantain in my mouth and the dog licks between my fingers, wanting a taste. I'm pretty sure he had mange and ticks, but I didn't care. He died after a few years, a life cut short by harsh conditions. Just like most of us.

It's strange how one bite of food brings me back home, as though no matter where I go, I will always be reminded.

I cannot escape.

“What's the deal with the big C?” Javier asks.

The big C means the cartel, but most of Javier's younger siblings don't know anything about that. I intend to keep it that way.

“They haven't come for me,” I answer. “Yet.”

“Do they think you're dead?” Pedro asks.

He takes a bite of food, almost finished with his dinner already. Another survival instinct. Eat quickly. Run fast. Hope to make it out alive.

“I don't know for sure,” I answer. I can only hope that when they filleted my neck, they assumed it killed me. I don't like to think about the alternative scenario, the one where they find out I've left the country.

“You know what you need?” Eduardo asks.

“To meet some of the girls from our school,” Pedro answers.

They're always doing that, finishing each other's sentences. Where one stops, the other picks up.

“What about Anita?” Eduardo suggests.

“
Sí
,” Pedro says. “We should introduce you to Anita. She lives in the dorms.”

The twins attend the University of Central Florida, better known as UCF. They have come a long way from our days in Cuba.

“Anita is Colombian and really chill,” Eduardo says.

“Personal experience talkin'?” I ask.

I know what “really chill” means to them. And thanks, but no thanks. I have no interest in someone who has been with my cousins.

“No. It's not like that,” Pedro answers. “She's just cool. You'd like her.”

“What are you doing Friday night?” Eduardo asks.

I stiffen at the mention of Friday night. It makes me think of Faith. I wonder if I can actually get her to go out with me.

Javier laughs. “Diego already has a date. Isn't that right?” he says.

I take another bite of food and answer him coolly. “Maybe I do.”

“Yeah, right,” Javier responds. “Unless you plan on kidnappin' Faith, she will never go anywhere with you.”

Eduardo and Pedro look confused.

“Who is Faith?” Pedro asks.

“This white girl from our school Diego has his eyes on.” Javier laughs. “Give it up, man. Never happenin'.”

“A
gringa
?” Eduardo says. “Diego, I'm surprised. But hey, if that's what you're into, we know a lot of white chicks, too.”

“I'll pass,” I say.

I realize then that I don't want another white chick. I want Faith.

I think about her grabbing my shirt and pulling me to her. I want her to do it again, only this time without the “psych.”

At the same time, I cannot want Faith. I have to stop. Now.

“I'll meet Anita, though,” I say. I need to hang out with another girl. It's apparently been too long for me if I'm thinking about Faith like that. Maybe Anita can make me forget.

Here's to wishful thinking.

“Meet us here Friday,” Pedro says. “We'll bring Anita and some of her friends.”

Good. I need to get Faith off my mind once and for all.