CHAPTER 3lorena
“I’m not going.”
“Yes, you are,” says Salma.
We’re back in our room, where we found three sets of an all-black version of the school uniform waiting for Salma in a package outside the door. She’s swiveling in her desk chair, waiting for her purplish black nail polish to dry. Tiffany is in the bathroom, retouching her makeup.
“Have you forgotten that anyone caught in a blocked-off area will beexpelled?” I ask, lying back on my bed.
Salma raises her hands in exasperation, fingers widely extended. “I thought you said part of the appeal of this place was getting away from Tía Viv’s rules. Seriously, if you want to keep being lame, you’re going to have to do it on your own. I want to havefun—”
“Have you forgotten what happened the last time you had fun?” I blurt out.
Hurt flashes across Salma’s features, like a shock of lightning, and I know I screwed up.
“Sal, I didn’t mean—”
“You’re right. You should stay.” She swivels around, giving her back to me.
Just then, the door opens, and our roommate strides in. “Some of the girls are gathering in the common room to hang out before curfew. Should we join?”
Salma shrugs, and I don’t answer.
“What’s going on?” asks Tiffany, eyeing us curiously.
“Lorena’s not coming tonight,” says Salma, swiveling from side to side in her chair.
“Makes sense,” says Tiffany. “Mommy wouldn’t approve.”
She must know who I am.
“What’s your problem with me?” I ask, and Salma stops moving.
“I don’t like hypocrites,” Tiffany shoots back, as if she already had the answer locked and loaded. Then she grabs her phone and shows me the screen, like a lawyer presenting an exhibit in court.
Salma leans in as a two-second video begins to play, probably a live photo that’s been looped. I’ve only seen it once, back in February, and I’ve avoided it ever since.
I’m sitting on a couch in a packed living room, still wearing my winter coat. Music blasts in the background, while a group of people plays beer pong, and a couple makes out against the far wall. I’m holding aRick and Mortybong in one hand and a beer can in the other, and I’m staring at the camera like a deer in headlights.
This is the video that wrecked Ma’s parenting credibility.
It wouldn’t have been such a big deal for anyone else, but Ma had just led a huge campaign against recreational cannabis when it was on the ballot. It felt like her detractors were waiting for me to mess up so they could rip her apart.
But why would Tiffany save it to her phone?
“Put that shit away,” says Salma, and Tiffany lowers the screen, releasing me from its hold. “If you bring up Lorena’s mom again, you’re going to need to find a new room.”
Salma’s voice is ice, same as her eyes.
“Whatever,” says Tiffany. “I’m going downstairs.”
Once she leaves, Salma checks her nails again, and I say a soft “Thanks.”
“You don’t have to come tonight if you don’t want to,” says Salma, and there’s still a chill in her demeanor. “But if you’re just scared of what Tía Viv might say, then really think about this. We both turned eighteen last week, which makes us grown-ass women. It’s time you stand up for yourself and make your own fucking choices.”
AT 10:30PM, Salma, Tiffany, and I slip out of our room and tiptoe downstairs. Part of Trevor’s plan was for us to bring our phones so we can scout any pockets of cell service.
“I think I hear someone!” I whisper, and the three of us duck behind a couch in the common room.
