Big Chicas Don't Cry(25)

But like I said, I never get what I want.

He stood up when he saw me and handed me the white plastic bag that had been sitting on the table. “Esteban’s sandwich,” he said.

“Thank you. I’ll just pay for it up front.”

“I just had her add it to the bill. It’s been taken care of.”

“Chris, you didn’t need—”

He shrugged. “It’s fine. Let’s go.”

Chris was quiet as we made our way back to the office. Which was fine with me. Then, just before we were going to turn the corner onto the firm’s street, he grabbed my hand and pulled me into a covered alcove of an empty storefront.

“What are you doing, Chris?” I said as he held me by the shoulders.

“I want to make sure that you heard me back at the restaurant. I don’t want you to have any doubt about what I said before Esteban called.” His face grew close, and I could hear every breath he took in and expelled. Deep. Frantic.

“I heard you. But I can’t—”

He put a finger to my lips. “Don’t say anything else. Just know that I meant it. You deserve to be happy, Marisol. And I want to be the one who makes you happy. I know you’re not ready to hear that. That’s okay. Just know that when you are ready, I’ll be here.”

Chris didn’t move right away. I wasn’t sure if he expected me to move either. I didn’t even know if I could.

Then, as quickly as he’d pulled me into the alcove, he was pulling me back out onto the sidewalk. When we arrived in front of the building, he told me to tell Esteban that he’d be out for the rest of the day and that he’d call him later.

Then he continued walking down the block.

It took me a few minutes to compose myself. By the time I made it to Esteban’s office, I was doing my best to shake off what Chris had told me.

Of course he loved me. I was his friend. He just needed to realize that he wasn’t really in love with me.

He just couldn’t be.

And I’d do everything in my power to convince him of that before he decided to do something stupid.





Chapter Thirteen


GRACIE


The school day was only half over, and I already had a migraine.

Dear God, I know he’s just a little boy, but give me the patience I need to deal with little Arnold Carter.

In the morning, he’d insisted that he’d swallowed a bug and wouldn’t stop dry heaving all through our counting songs. Then, with ten minutes to go until the lunch bell, he refused to stop pinching his nose.

“It stinks in here,” he whined. “I think Mr. Bubbles is dead!”

Then his next announcement, that our classroom goldfish was definitely on his way to heaven, elicited tears around the room. Even after I had them all gather around Mr. Bubbles’s tank to watch him swim, Arnold wouldn’t stop.

“Then there’s another dead fish in here somewhere. I think it’s in your desk!”

The realization that he might have been right made me freeze. I took a long, deep whiff and smelled dead fish.

Oh no.

“Ms. Reed?” I called over to my parent volunteer. “Can you help me open some windows so we can air out the classroom during lunch?”

Then I asked her to take the kids a few minutes early to the cafeteria. Once they were all gone, I walked over to the windowsill closest to my desk and grabbed the paper bag sitting on top of it.

Slowly, I brought it up to my nose and then smelled it.

Yep. Arnold was right. The bag definitely smelled like dead fish.

I took the bag holding my tuna sandwich outside to throw it away. Far away.

The bell rang, and a chorus of kids laughing and yelling filled the courtyard. My head throbbed instantly.

Thank God I wasn’t a cafeteria monitor today.

Still, I needed to find something to eat so I could take some aspirin.

I looked at the closed door of the teachers’ lounge and debated about whether to walk inside. I’d been eating lunch in my classroom for almost a week now—trying to bring foods that didn’t require refrigeration. This morning, though, tired of peanut butter and jelly, I’d decided on a tuna sandwich. I couldn’t find my dad’s blue cooler bag that he sometimes used for lunch, so I had to stick with my usual paper sack. Now everything had turned into a stinky, soggy mess.

It was a self-inflicted seclusion. I had banished myself to the confines of my classroom for lunch—away from the staff refrigerator, away from conversations that didn’t revolve around “boogers” or “potty,” and, most importantly, away from any risk of having to sit next to or across from Tony.

So far I had been successful in keeping my distance. It wasn’t too difficult most of the time. I saw him during staff meetings, of course, but there was no chance of any interaction or talking since Sister Catherine demanded full attention all the time. I also made sure we were never on the same schedule for recess watch, dare he try to chat with me as we made rounds. So all that left was lunchtime.

My stomach grumbled. There was usually fruit on the lounge’s counter and extra sodas in the fridge. Then I remembered today was Mrs. Gosling’s birthday. That meant there would be cake, maybe even cupcakes. I took a deep breath and decided it was worth the risk.

The heavenly scent of buttercream frosting met my arrival inside the teachers’ lounge. Everyone was already eating their piece of cake.