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ONE
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“CUÉNTAME UNA HISTORIA DE RENCOR”
KEVIN KAARL, EL GUINCHO
The first dayof summer is always the worst in my opinion. Your internal clock is still set to school time, but your mind is telling you,sleep in, take it easy, fuck the system. But the two don’t mix well. It isn’t until you’re about halfway through the summer break that your clock finally catches up with your brain but by then, you’ve already missed half the fun. Bummer for everyone going back to school in the fall.
Luckily for me, I already graduated and all that’s left is finding a good spot to kick it with my best friend Noah.
Chillin’ all day and wild parties at night, yeah, this summer break has been one to remember. Core memories were created these last weeks, and with the bonfire tonight, I know more are coming.
I stare into the mirror, applying my dark purple matte lipstick and parting my long black hair down the middle to begin the French braids I have planned for tonight. My head bobs to the music as I work my hair into place, pausing every few minutes to let my muscles rest. Why is it that I can play basketball all day, but doing my hair leaves my arms shaking?
Damn whacked out body.
With my hair done, I take off the long-ripped t-shirt I’ve been lounging in all day and change into a red tank top, black ripped mom-jeans and red Converse shoes. I dig in my closet for my black and red flannel shirt, forcing my hung clothes out of the way as I try in vain to pull the damn thing from the hanger. I successfully knock my backpack off the shelf in the middle, cursing as all the contents inside spill around my feet.
After ripping the flannel off the greedy hanger, I slip it on before squatting to pick up the papers and other junk I’ve shoved in my bag during the last week of school. That week was such a chaotic mess with parties and celebrations with my graduating class. We didn’t have homework or any real lessons, but we were handed a shit ton of pamphlets of information for colleges and universities. Of course, there were military recruiters doing their best to lie their asses off and get us to sign up…I can’t say I didn’t think about it, but in the end, myhell-fucking-no-sirwon out.
I grab a handful of the leaflets and shove them back into the bag -making a mental note to recycle these fuckers later- when I come across a photo one helpful sophomore took of me my friends on the front steps of the school.
Noah and I stand between Leroy and Rico, the other pair that makes up our small circle. I grin as I run my fingers across the polaroid image. All of us have our arms over each other’s shoulders, all of us smiling big like this was the happiest moment of our lives. Rico looks like he’s in the middle of blinking, but I know he’s just high as a kite. His green tipped hair is flopped over to one side as he throws the middle finger to the school over his shoulder. Leroy stands with his head tipped back, his smile crooked on his caramel face, showing off his pretty dimple and neck tattoos. Meanwhile, my goofy ass has my leg kicked up like some wannabe Vegas showgirl, my hair a wild mess over my shoulder and a giant wide grin on my face while Noah smiles down at me.
This really was the best day ever. The last day of our torturous high school lives…now it’s time for tortuous adult lives.
My mom wants me to go to college, expand on my love of justice, but I honestly don’t feel like college is really for me. Besides, I think my mom and I have different definitions of justice. She believes in the law, in the whole system, but I’m the kind of girl who demands street justice. I know college isn’t a bad idea, in fact I know I should absolutely go, but I’m not in a rush like she seems to be.
Sometimes I think she’s trying to get rid of me so she can party it up. Sounds funny when I complain to Noah about it, but I’m dead serious. She’s been on my ass about one college in particular but I always blow her off. The university is a private one with fucking uniforms. Not even my high school put us in those stuffy ass clothes.
I looked for their website after my mother brought it up and found out that uniforms are the least of my problems with that school. The place is steeped in some kind of religion, though they didn’t specify which. Like that’s not suspicious at all.
They have Sunday mass, religious science and priests for professors and counselors, even baptisms!
Okay, so I made that last part up and I may have exaggerated the priests, but Sunday mass was definitely listed as mandatory. They do have some older, stern looking men in what looks like Roman Catholic cassock, but there was no white collar in sight. These men were the counselors and church staff. One thing that stood out about them was that in all their photos, they have their right hands cupping their left forearms near their elbows.
It could be the pose of someone unsure of something, the stance of a shy person, but these men looked too confident for the placement to be anything but intentional.
Whatever the reason, it completely sealed the deal for me; I am not going anywhere near Coventry University. I don’t even understand how my mom would want me to go there. She told me it's where she went and where she met my father, but that’s it. She’s not like other moms who tell their kids all the crazy stories about their college experience, never spoke about college parties. Though I doubt she has any party stories with how religo the place seems. It’s almost like she’d rather forget the place exists, so why is she trying to push me to go?
She’s religious for sure, but not catholic. My mom worships La Muerte, like all our family does. I’ll have to take her word for it because I’ve never met them. Still, religious or not, I don’t drink from the same punch bowl as her, so I’m not interested in going to CU. Plus, the place looks like it’s filled to the brim with snobby ass rich people and I’m from the hood; the two never mix well.
I get up from the floor and grab a couple of push pins before attaching the photo to the wall beside my desk next to my favorite picture of me and my mom.
My mother is my best friend, she’s my momandmy dad, since the prick left us years ago. Valentina Calavera is not like other moms, and certainly not like Noah’s cunt of a mother. I mean, my mom has been extra intense lately with this whole college thing, pushing me toward Coventry, but she knows me better than anyone. When I’m pushed, I’ll push back regardless of it being right or wrong. Still, Valentina is the kind of mother most teens wish they had, she’s tough, but she’s the greatest friend anyone could ask for and I was lucky enough to be birthed by her.
My dad left us when I was fourteen, and while he and I get along super great, Roberto Calavera holds no flame to the inferno that is my mom.
“Valeria Roma!” I yip when my mother’s irritated voice penetrates my thoughts, “If I have to yell your name one more time—”
“Coming!” I kick the stack of leaflets as I rush to my door, sighing when they scatter once more. I ignore the mess and leave my room, digging my phone out of my pocket to check for messages. I bound down the stairs, skipping the last step that always feels like it’s going to break every time I put my weight on it. Mom’s been meaning to get it fixed but with the double shifts she’s been pulling at the laundromat and me not being able to find a summer job, we haven’t had the funds.
I should just do it myself; I think. It’ll come out shitty, but I’ll make sure it doesn’t wobble like it does now.
I pause at the bottom of the stairs when I see that I have missed calls and texts from Noah.
Noah: Ay Dios, Val! You better not be late tonight. Bonfire at Celorio’s, remember?
