The Lesbiana's Guide to Catholic School(13)

Karen might not notice me, but to Emily and Jenna, I’m still the center of the universe. They walk with me through the lunch lines and spend the rest of lunch asking me questions about my old life. I tell them I like it better at Slayton. Here’s the thing. I don’t particularly feel like thinking about Rover, or anything that happened there. I’d much rather think about how cute Jenna is and how they all keep calling me cute. I’d rather think about Bo, and how she likes me. I want to think about anyone but Bianca.

But that’s the problem, isn’t it? I’m not supposed to be thinking about Bianca. Or Jenna. Or Bo. Not like that. I’m supposed to be thinking about Hunter, and how he says my name right and buys me cookies. Hunter, who blushes when I talk to him. Hunter . . . who is not a girl.

And then Jenna calls me cute again, and she really needs to cut that shit out because she is most definitely straight and I am most definitely Not Gay. Not here.





4


Honor Thy Liner and Thy Hoops


I spot Mami’s car in student pickup as soon as I walk out of my last class. She’s waving frantically with a huge smile on her face. The second I get in the car, she bombards me with back-to-back questions, not leaving me enough room to answer any of them.

“How was your first day? Did you make any new friends? Did Cesar get in any trouble?”

“It was good, I made a few . . . and no.” Unless you count lunch detention as trouble, but there’s no way I’m telling her about that. “First day wasn’t so bad, but I—” I start, but she cuts me off with a hand gesture when Cesar climbs into the back seat.

She proceeds to ask him all the same questions, like I’m invisible. I was going to tell her about my new friends and complain about Karen, but my time is up.

Cesar spends the ride complaining about his physics teacher, who I’m guessing is the one who gave him detention. Thank God he doesn’t mention that part. When we get to our driveway, Mom lets out a deep sigh and her whole vibe changes.

“God give me the strength.” She gives herself the sign of the cross, then rushes inside.

“What’s with her?” Cesar asks, and I shrug. I find her in her room. She’s sitting on the floor, making necklaces. I didn’t think the mess on the floor could get this bad. I feel a little guilty since she’s probably stressed about having to restock after everything sold out.

“I love that you put this together, and that it’s successful, but this might be too much work for me to keep up with, mija,” she says, and I sit on the floor next to her and start helping.

“You don’t have to do it alone,” I say, taking note of the strings and beads she’s using and preparing my own. “You have me to help you now.”

She loosens up a bit at that, but still looks a bit tense. “We’re almost out of materials already. I’m not used to running out this fast.”

“That’s a good thing! That means more money for us.” I give her an encouraging smile, hoping she’s not too stressed out because of me. I’m about to flat-out apologize when Cesar walks in and sits next to us.

“Don’t be stressed out, Mami.” He leans over to kiss her cheek, then follows my lead and gets to work, too.

“You’re so helpful mijo, thank you. How did I ever get so lucky?” She ruffles his hair, and my face gets hot. She never thanked me. I guess I am the reason she’s stressed, but still. I kind of wanted this jewelry thing to be our thing. Something Mami and I could bond over, I don’t know. She asks Cesar more questions about school, giving me shortish answers when I try to include myself in the conversation about the school we both just had our first day at. Maybe when my Etsy shop makes us rich, she’ll stop picking favorites.

After a while, Cesar asks me about my day. He sometimes shares the attention when he notices Mom sidelining me. I appreciate it, but Mom doesn’t seem as interested when I talk.

“You know what, I’m not really built for this jewelry thing. My fingers hurt.” Cesar shakes his hands out. “I should probably start on my homework.” He gives me a pity smile and leaves us. It isn’t until he’s gone that she asks me a question.

“So, your brother’s doing good now?”

The next morning, I obsess over the details I can control. I pull my shirt out enough to hide the rolls in my skirt. I wear my best Jordans. I think about curling my hair, which I never do. But it’s so long it would take all morning, so I braid it. I put on my favorite gold hoops. They’re not real, but they look it and I like the way the gold frames my face. I feel like Selena Quintanilla. Cute and elegant at the same time. I put extra love into doing my makeup. The hoops and J’s and makeup show all the me the uniform hides. I’m ready.

When we get to school, I steer clear of the cop patrolling campus, just in case. All the students seem to be friends with him, but still. He gives them high fives and dabs at them when they pass by, as if anyone still dabs. I’ve never seen a cop act all buddy-buddy like that. My experiences with cops haven’t exactly been pleasant. I’ve only had two close interactions, and I’m not trying to have a third. Once freshman year, when I saw my friend Junior get his head bashed into the cement floor of his own garage by a cop. And once when my dad was taken away. They both ended in deportations. My dad, and Junior’s mom. The cop at this school seems safe enough, but I’m not getting close enough to find out.