It’s easy to focus on the road when Nadia comes to mind—she lives there, her personal haven deep in my cranium. I don’t know if there’s enough time but I’d like to take her to see my mom this weekend. It’s been a while since they have visited one another and my mom adores the hell out of her. I think she asksabout her more than she asks about me when she calls to check in. Rude as hell, especially when I’m the apple of her eye. I’m kidding.
The first time I brought her home, my mom had plates of food piled in front of her, urging her to eat as if she were a stray picked off the road. My abuela is the same way when I visit but between you and me, my mom is this way with Nadia because I opened my mouth one night. There was a time in her childhood when she went without food because her piece of shit father told her it was to learn to cook or starve.
My girl went without food altogether or would choke down the meals she fucked up for weeks, just to have something in her belly. She started with simple things like sandwiches and canned soup but when the supplies ran out, she was left with basic ingredients; throwing away more than what was consumable.
After that, I never let her go without. I even made it a point to take extra food with me in school: tamales, sopes, pozole, or some descada and tortillas. When she began to put on weight, I eased off; pleased to see that something was working while she was still teaching herself. She had to meal plan to stretch what she made—low and behold her father would consume what she created—but at least she isn’t underweight anymore.
Don’t get me wrong, I was happy with how she looked before too. She’s fed now; keeping her belly full is vastly more important than worrying about something as trivial as weight. She could gain an extra hundred and I’d still be in love with her.
My uncle, however, is a fucking pig. He is weary of Nadia, and says she is bad news. He never goes into specifics but I’ve seen the way he scowls at her despite her manners and respect towards him as an adult and a police officer. The fucker and I have nearly come to blows more than a handful of times because of the way he speaks of her and his glaring lack of respect. Mentioning her father and her mom, how he’s abusive, she’s awhore, and the way it will turn out the same. I beg to differ, if she becomes like either of them, I know deep in my heart she will see it before it’s too late and will change.
Us though? I stuck to her like glue after that fight. There was something about her that held me captive and wouldn’t let up. I found myself curiously sneaking glimpses of her in the hallway as she moved between her friends. Always the quieter one of the four, hands and arms wrapped securely around her books as she held them to her chest, and her backpack hanging on one shoulder stuffed full of whatever secrets she kept in there.
Her grey eyes would snap from one face to the next as fellow students filed past her, pretending she was invisible, but as much as she might have been to them, she was increasingly becoming the center of my whole world. By the time I finally grew a pair and asked her out to a football game I had already memorized her routine, making me a certifiable weirdo.
That night, she sat in the front row of the stands, trying to keep up with what was happening on the field and faking her interest. I can still see her, in my mind's eye, following the ball and jumping up to cheer for our team at the wrong times. Poor girl was so embarrassed but I caught her attention and it boosted my confidence. She made me play better, play harder, run faster, all while keeping those beautiful silver eyes focused on me.
Then came the last game of the season. It was out third or fourth down when I finally said to hell with my inhibitions and made my move. Half time hit and I chose to join her instead of my team in the locker room. Wrapped up in a jacket, black beanie that blended with her dark hair, comfortable and warm, she leaned over the rail and smiled at me. She was so fucking stunning and I was already wrapped around each of her fingers. I shoved the toe of my cleats into the fence under the bleachers and pulled myself up. My gloved hands gripped the bar tightwhen she leaned further over, the tips of her toes barely keeping her grounded when I crushed my lips to hers.
Chapter three
Today
As soon as I left my mom’s I stopped and picked Zap & Wes up from Wes’s parents. They have more room there, my poor mom couldn’t house Zap with as big as he is, even if she wanted to. Dude is a giant, would have taken both couches and left Wes nowhere to go except the floor.
The sun’s still high enough in the sky headlights aren’t needed for driving, and considering we are going to a bonfire, everything will be lit up anyhow. When we get to the field several others are already setting up; like ants on a mission, moving around one another with ease and avoiding collisions. Tailgates are down, chairs are pulled out, coolers packed to the top with drinks, I think there is a keg or two around here somewhere, and they definitely didn’t forget the beer pong tables. Typical high schoolslash college kid shit. Speaking of, there are a lot alumni here too; not just me creeping around with my boys.
The captain of the baseball team, from the class ahead of me, is sprawled out on the top of his truck cabin—leaning back on a palm with his letterman on, suck-starting a glass bottle.Fucking loser. Who wears their letterman four years after they graduate? Pricks who peaked in high school, that’s who.
A few cars down from him is the cheer squad huddling together and giggling at a pair of guys who are more my speed—the outcasts and aggies. I would say cowboys but this isn’t the south, we don’t have the same climate here for southern influence like they do in say Texas or some shit. Therefore Wranglers, tucked t-shirts, and baseball caps are as good as it gets. I think one or two of them may show goats or something to that effect but that’s it, no ‘cows’ in sight.
Then there’s your run-of-the-mill students who don’t particularly belong to any group but have built their own little cliques. They come for the beer and the stories to reminisce over later, sitting back and watching everyone like candy-cameras perched on the wall—tailor made for gossip. Back in the day, that was me and my guys, the outcasts. Even though I was on the football team, I didn’t spend my time around a bunch of jocks. Why? There’s too much testosterone, typically synthetic, and unnecessary ego fights. A lot of the same guys who play also lifted weights and when your state isn’t known for its football, you find notoriety elsewhere. Me though? I played my ass off, managed my grades, and had fun. That’s all there is to do in here anyway, other than get in trouble and I wasn’t quite there yet.
Sliding out of Delinquent, all three of us quickly hunt down a much-needed drink. I opt for soda, the other two snag something mixed they won’t remember the name of later—err, they won’t remember the night. As we wait for the vibe to pick up, we make our rounds, chatting up some guys we shared a fewclasses with and the occasional girl. None of which are giving Wes the time of day, he’s going to have a long weekend at this rate. Zap, however, keeps looking over his shoulder for someone specific which has me concerned for his tender heart.
Honestly, I don’t want to mull around and shoot the shit just to pass the time when I’m fully capable of sitting in the car and people watching. The younger girls always make goo-goo eyes in my direction then attempt to chat me up, ask me questions about where I have been, how school is going, if they can go for a ride in the Civic, and it grates my nerves. They see a face, whether it’s pretty or not is debatable, and someone who looks an awful lot like a ‘bad boy.’ Don’t get me wrong, I’m not innocent…at all…but I’m not the type of bad they’re hoping for. I’m just a leather jacket wearing, smooth talking, knuckle head who came back from college for one night—one girl.
“Heyyy Kalebbbb.” I hear someone croon, and I cringe.
Twisting at the waist, my heart picks up speed when I see Ivy but then it stalls when I notice Nadia isn’t with her. It’s just the three Stooges she claims as friends. Giving her a tight smile, I lift my cup to say hello and turn back to Wes with a quickness, groaning at the same time.
“Is she coming?”
“Who?” Zap asks.
“That soul sucking harpy, Ivy.”
“Oh yeah? She down for sucking my soul out of me?” Wes teases.
“Shut the fuck up, idiota. You know I can’t stand her ass.”
“Yeah yeah, you put up with her though.”
“It’s so good to see you, Rey.” Ivy purrs as the nightmare appears beside me, hooking her arm into the crook of mine. She beams like a rat that stole the cheese—she doesn’t get the courtesy of being the cat, fucking lunatic.
“Wish I could say the same, Ivy.” I bite back. Ready to chew on my tongue and spit the damn thing out if it keeps me from speaking with her. Matter of fact, I may just gnaw my arm off in the process; get her infuriating touch off of me.
“Oh now come on, that wasn’t very convincing.” She muses.
