I blow out a long exhale. “How much time do you have?”
“Forever.”
“Okay, I deserved that.” I look away from him and spot a new piece of furniture. “A couch?”
“I figured you would prefer it to the floor.”
“You figured right.” I take off my coat and sit on the fabric cushion.
He doesn’t say anything as he joins me, like he’s still waiting for my answer.
“My mom is what some people call a ‘mommy influencer,’ which just means she had strong opinions about how to raise me, which she chose to share on social media. It sort of started when she uploaded a video of us in my abuelo’s car playing a game called veo veo. She’d pick a color and sayI see something the color green,and I would guess what she was looking at.
“My grandpa was driving with one hand on the steering wheel. I was one and a half, and instead of playing the game, I said, ‘Bebo, you drive withtwohands.’ The video went viral—it got millions of views and was played on morning television shows. After that, Ma started sharing her ideas on raising me, which landed her some interviews, and she got pretty popular. I was five the first time I was recognized by strangers at a playground.”
Staring out the window, I feel like I’m watching the memories play out across the icy blue sky.
“I still remember being little and thinking everything I did had to be caught on camera. There was this pressure to be special all the time, or I would be letting down my parents. But when I was eight, I’d had enough. My parents were discussing a trip to Argentina to visit Ma’s extended relatives, and as soon as she mentioned setting up interviews, I said:I don’t want to be famous anymore.”
I glance at William, and he’s still listening intently. His lack of reaction or interruption makes it easy for me to keep sharing.
“Ma felt awful, and she completely cut me out of her social channels. She spun it in public as some new groundbreaking act of mine—that at age eight, I had exercised my right to consent. But then a conspiracy theory began to grow that I was actually dead and Ma was a fraud, and her team insisted thatsomething had to be done. So, for her sake, I agreed to appear in no more than four posts a year.”
I’ve forgotten why I was telling him all this, and then I remember. He wants to know why I’ve never been in love.
“Ma believes in rules. She thinks for children to grow into the right shape, they need a proper mold. So I grew up with a bunch of rules that expire when I graduate—stuff like no social media, no parties, no sexy clothing, no makeup, no dating.”
I could stop here and just tell him that’s why—because Ma forbade it.
But now that I’ve started opening up, I feel compelled to keep going.
“My mom and Salma’s mom were best friends, but Tía Elena didn’t follow Ma’s rules when raising Salma. She actually did the opposite—she let Sal wear whatever she wanted and make her own choices, which drove Ma crazy. Then, earlier this year… Elena died.”
My nostrils flare, and I blink quickly to drive back the emotion. Cold fingers wrap around mine, and without looking at him, I keep going.
“When she lost her mom, Salma started going out a lot with our classmates. It felt like she was doing anything she could to escape her life. One night, a friend of a friend threw a party while their parents were out of town, and Salma went. At like two in the morning, I started getting calls from her that she wasn’t feeling well and needed me to come get her. I knew I couldn’t get Ma involved because she would make Sal feel even worse, so I called a car and snuck out.
“When I got there, I didn’t recognize most people, and it reeked of beer and weed. I found Sal wasted on a couch, a beer can in one hand and a bong in the other. She’d never smoked before. Her eyelids were flickering, and when I took her face between my hands… her eyes rolled to the back of her head.”
I suck in a sharp breath, and William squeezes my hand. But I keep my gaze on the window, forcing the rest of the words out.
“I grabbed the bong and the drink just to set them down. But while I was holding them, I heard a girl shriek, ‘That’s Viviana Navarro’s daughter! Guys, it’s little Miss Perfect being not so perfect!’
“I must have frozen for like half a second when I was recognized, but it was long enough for someone to snap a live picture and loop it into a video that conveniently stops right before I set the two things down. When people heard me talking to a 911 dispatcher, they started toboome and threatened to destroy me online. I didn’t care. All I could think about was Sal, and thefear that I’d lost her was the worst feeling I’ve ever felt—even worse than when you or Nate were about to kill me.”
I look at him now, and William doesn’t seem surprised. It’s as if he expects that I would be more afraid of losing Salma than dying.
“I had to call my mom from the ambulance on the way to the hospital, and she and my dad met us there. Salma pulled through, and since her dad was out of town, we said Ma was her aunt, and we got to take Sal home with us. But by morning, footage of me was all over the news and social media. Ma was being called a fraud, and I was being described as a lost cause. It all got way out of hand, and my mom got dropped from a ton of projects. She had been hired as a consultant for this school and even joined its board, but once her reputation took a hit, they asked her to step down quietly. She agreed, on the condition that they guarantee Salma’s and my spots.”
I fall silent, and it feels oddly good to tell someone what really happened that night. I wonder if this is how Salma felt after telling Tiffany.
“Thank you for sharing yourself with me,” says William after it’s clear I’m done speaking. “This just proves something I already suspected.” His fingers caress mine. “You are an exceptional friend.”
I feel a lot closer to him now, and maybe that’s why I’m emboldened to ask, “Is that all I am to you… a friend?”
“Lore,” he says, leaning forward until our faces are touching. “You are my best friend,” he murmurs into my lips, pressing a kiss there, “my only family,” he goes on, pressing another kiss, “and my first love.”
It feels like everything stops—my thoughts, my breaths, my heart. “Youloveme?” I ask, my voice small.
