The You I've Never Known(49)

I should never bring up anything about boys

to my dad. Especially not Mexican boys, or

Mexican anything.

So the time Debra and I were playing hide-and-seek, and I burst into Shayla’s room while

she and Carlos were

doing some naked thing together, I kept my mouth sealed. And when she

wound up pregnant at

the tender age of fourteen, I barely knew enough

to put the two things together. And only later did I realize had I said something sooner, Shayla might’ve escaped that fate.





So, No


Dad is totally unavailable to in-need-of-a-confessor, completely confused me.

Can’t talk to Monica about Gabe, and

though Gabe claims an open mind about my thing with Monica, in-depth conversation about it would feel all wrong. The only other person I can maybe discuss it with is Syrah, except she’s not the most

discreet girl in the world.

For now, I guess,

I’ll keep dissecting it internally and hope the process doesn’t devour me alive,

from the inside out.





Even Beyond the Triad


Something primitive, feral, really,

has taken possession of me.

Sometimes

it feels like a superpower.

Sometimes

it feels like an Achilles’ heel.

At school, when I cruise the hallways,

I view people through a new lens.

It’s not just are they cute, or do they smile at me. It’s how they make me feel.

Turned off?

Turned on? More and more it’s the latter.

Guys. Girls. Doesn’t matter.

That both intrigues and scares the hell out of me.

What’s truly terrifying is they notice it.





That Transparency


Is beyond my ability to control.

It’s like living inside one of those dreams where you’re naked in a public place, except skinned in plastic wrap.

People can see your heartbeat

quicken or the way your breath falls shallow inside the draw of your lungs, or the acceleration of your brain’s electric impulses which signals an unexpected blush of desire.

Sometimes they look away.

Sometimes they stop and gaze.

Once in a while the person

you catch staring puts you straight on edge. Yesterday on my way

to the gym, I felt eyes laser in, and when I glanced around

in search of them, it was Garrett I found studying me, intently, as if finding something new.

I expected an ugly remark

or a flipped middle finger, maybe two. Instead, he smiled, creeping me out with his undisguised interest.





Today Is Gobbler Day


As Dad likes to call Thanksgiving.

I’ll be spending it with Gabe, doing most of the cooking at Zelda’s. She has a big oven and all the pots, pans, and various utensils we need. Dad and I

have never cooked an actual turkey

ourselves, on our own. In the past

we either went out or relied on whoever we were living with to provide dinner.

I’m thankful for the chance to try not to ruin a turkey myself this year. Gabe swears he’s helped his mom roast one in the past, and it’s not as hard as people make it out to be. Last night I went over to Zelda’s and watched him brine the bird.

He claims it “infuses the white meat with flavor and juiciness.” I have no clue if it works or not, but I can’t stand dry turkey, so I’m hopeful I’ll be thankful about that, too. Truthfully, I have much to be grateful for. Friends. Relationships. A decent home.

Good grades. A brilliant basketball team to be part of. Coach Booker says we’ll kill the league this year, and she could be right.

We’re hard-core, even without Hillary, who’ll have to sit the season out.

And, hey, I’ve got a car. Dad decided to let me keep it, though he still hasn’t agreed to take me in for the driving test that’ll net the coveted license. With me behind the wheel of the Focus this morning, I figure I’ll give him a nudge. “So, Dad.

I was thinking. Basketball season

starts soon. With practices and games, transportation could be a problem.

I thought maybe one day

next week we could meet at the DMV

after school and work. Coach’ll let me take off a little early if I give her a heads-up. I’ll make the appointment.”





He Grunts


Which is his way of saying

he’s considering it, and

that’s better than a straight no, so I nudge, “California is strict about teen drivers, and I can’t drive with any of my friends in the car for a year, you won’t have to

worry about me doing bad

things, especially since if I do I’ll lose my license

until I turn eighteen, and—”

Okay, I get it. It’s just, kids die in accidents all the time.

If I lost you it would kill me, too.

Is that what he’s worried

about? “Oh, Dad. I’ll be very careful. I promise. Please?”

Best I can give you right now is a definite maybe.

Still better than a straight no.





At Zelda’s