The Lesbiana's Guide to Catholic School(53)

“She’s straight, David,” Bo says nonchalantly before she slides the page back over to me. I force a laugh and take the paper. Thank God for something less gay to concentrate on. It’s starting to look almost like a face. There are two orbs that could be eyes, and I start coloring them. The patterns Bo drew around them give more depth, and they look like two black holes, attracting everything else toward them. I don’t know if I was subconsciously thinking about Bo’s magnetic eyes while I was drawing. But that’s what we drew.

We get an A, obviously.

When the bell rings for lunch, I stay put instead of going to my normal spot in the cafeteria with Bo and David. I have more jewelry to make and not a lot of free time to make it, so I decide to take advantage of Ms. Felix’s open-door policy. Since art is right before lunch anyway, it’s convenient this way.

“You’re not coming?” Bo asks when she and David notice that I don’t get up after class.

“No, I think I’ll stay and make some jewelry.”

“Fun! You want some company?” Bo asks.

“Only if you let me put you to work,” I say. It’s only half a joke. I could use some extra hands. I learned from Jamal that making people help with the simple things saves me a ton of time.

We have a little assembly line going in the art room: Bo cuts the threads, David beads them, and I braid and tie them. By the time lunch is over, I have all the braided bead necklaces I’ll need for this weekend.





14


Make Unto Thee a Fat Wallet


On Saturday, I’m all set up at the mercado before it opens. Early as I am, there are already a few other vendors set up. The smells of fried dough and dulce de leche from the churro stand travel straight to my nose through the December wind, which makes me regret having skipped breakfast. There’s plenty of food I could eat, but there’s no point in being here just to eat all my potential earnings. All the tables are set up facing inward around the plaza, leaving space for the entrance. I’m lucky to have my assigned table right up front. That way I’ll be one of the first and last stops, and I’ll only have one table next to me—less direct competition. The lady next to me is selling champurrado and aguas frescas. Which is doubly great, since I won’t have to compete with her for customers.

At this point I’ve done everything I could possibly do to prepare, so the rest is up to the universe. With every sale, I’ll be one step closer to financial independence.

The first few hours are slow. I smile at everyone who walks by, but most of them avoid my eyes, and my table. Guilting people over with a smile obviously isn’t working, so I give up on that front.

The day is already halfway over by the time an older white guy actually stops for more than a few moments. We’re outside in December, but he’s sweating harder than I do in church. He rubs his chin and eyes everything individually for what feels like a century.

“Are you looking for anything specific?” I ask to break the silence.

“Forgot my anniversary. She likes purple.”

I spring into action, picking up an intricate purple-and-green beadwork necklace with a flowerlike pattern. “She’ll forgive you if you get this one! It’s my mom’s favorite!” I hold it to my neck so he can see it better.

“How much?”

“A hundred and ten dollars.” I say it with as much confidence as I can.

“I’ll take it for fifty.” He inspects it like it’s worth nothing more. I put the necklace back down and blink at him.

“I’m sorry, this one’s a hundred and ten.” Cutting the price even a dollar feels like an insult, and he wants less than half for it? The prices are already pretty low considering expenses for materials and how much time went into making them.

“Sixty. Final offer.” He strokes the necklace, and I hold myself back from swatting his sweaty hands away from my art.

“One hundred,” I offer. I hate hagglers, but I’m afraid I won’t sell anything if I don’t budge with this guy. I suck it up because I don’t want to be homeless if my mom kicks me out. I need this. Besides, he already contaminated it with his greasy sausage fingers.

“You know what? I’ll come back.” He starts to turn away. I’ve seen Mami do this enough to know that people don’t come back.

“Wait!” I shout louder than I need to. “Sixty is fine.” I hate the desperation that comes out in my voice.

He grins and gets out his wallet. I try not to let my eyes water as I bag up the necklace and accept his cash. Fifty dollars less than what I should be getting.

People start coming in droves around lunchtime, and thank God, because I need to make up for my lack of sales this morning. Normally being in a place so crowded by myself would be my worst nightmare, but I make my table my shield and the jewelry my weapons in order to face the oncoming traffic.

I prepare myself for the rush as several other tables start building up lines. A family of five walks to my table, and I smile at one of the adults. They smile back, but just as the family reaches my table, I spot Bianca and her mom at the entrance.

My heart jumps out of my chest and I can’t think straight. All I know is I can’t let them see me. I’m still holding back tears from Sausage Fingers, and if Bianca sees me upset, she’ll know I’m failing at this, too.