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When I turn around, Rieta is staring at the door, wide-eyed with shock.
“Oh, shit,” she whispers. “It’s the other way around.Hehas a crush onyou.”
I want to sink through the floor.
Disappear like melting ice.
Laz, what the hell have you done?
Rieta turns to me. “I’m right, aren’t I?”
“You’ve got the wrong idea,” I say desperately, shaking my head. I can feel the red flush that’s giving away all my secrets.
“Mia, he called you Bambi. That’s the cutest nickname I’ve ever heard! Has he tried to kiss you? Hehaskissed you, hasn’t he?”
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
My face is doing all kinds of crazy things out of my control. I whirl around and pick up a stack of dirty dishes. Then I put them down again as my phone buzzes in my pocket. I take it out and see it’s a text from Laz.
Tell her. Someone should know about us, and she loves you.
That’sinsane. He’s insane. We agreed we wouldn’t tell anyone. What am I supposed to do if Rieta freaks out and tells Mom? Rieta is the only one who even talks to me, and I won’t be able to bear it if she starts to hate me too.
I try to come up with a reasonable explanation for why Laz would call me Bambi and touch my face like I’m his girlfriend, but it’s too late. Rieta’s already figured out everything.
I cover my eyes and hold out my phone to my sister, showing her the text from Laz.
She gasps and grabs my phone from me. “Is this from Laz? Tell me what?”
It’s out now. I haven’t got a choice. “That we’re together.”
I peek through my fingers at my sister. Her mouth is hanging open as she stares from me to my phone and back again.
“Why is he in your contacts as a knife emoji?”
Because he’s dangerous for me, and I’m deadly for him.
“It’s a reminder that one of us or both of us are going to get killed if anyone finds out about us. You won’t tell Mom, will you? Our uncles will kill him. Literally kill him.” I grab Rieta’s wet hand, pleading with her.
Her mouth is open as she struggles for words. Grapples with this secret that she no doubt wishes she didn’t know. I’ve put her in a terrible position, trapped between me and Mom.
Finally, she passes my phone back, grabs a dishcloth, and wipes her hands. “Come on. Laz left us alone so we could talk. So, let’s talk.”
Rieta leads me back into the dining room and pours us both fresh glasses of red wine. We take them through to the living room and sit down on the sofas together.
“Tell me everything,” Rieta says.
I take a deep breath.
And I do.
I don’t sugarcoat anything. I make sure Rieta knows about all the things that Laz did those first few weeks he lived with us and how much I hated him. As I continue my story, my face softens, and so does my voice. I tell her how Laz stood up to the boys who took compromising pictures of me—though I don’t say where, because I’m not ready to share Tasha with anyone else—and defended me to Mom. I tell Rieta how he infuriates me and makes me laugh, and that I can’t stop thinking about him.
“What does it feel like?” Rieta asks.
