The Lesbiana's Guide to Catholic School(55)

“How’d you get to be so mature, huh? Is Jamal that good an influence?”

“Nah, I’m just super mature.” He grins, then glances at the promise ring on the nightstand, and the smile disappears.

“Are you guys okay?”

“Yeah,” he answers quickly, shooting me an annoyed glare. “Don’t change the subject. What’s happening with you and Bo?”

“There is no me and Bo. I like her, that’s it. It’s not gonna happen.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not telling her. I already know she doesn’t like me anyway. I think she has a girlfriend.” I sigh, not mentioning the embarrassing fact that I told Bo I was straight.

“What do you mean, you think?”

“I mean, she told me she had one back at homecoming.”

“Has she mentioned anything about her girlfriend since then?” Cesar asks.

“Well, no, but—”

“So it was probably just a quick thing. Bet you money she’s single now.”

I roll onto my side and rest my chin on my palm. “I feel like Bo would have said something if they broke up, though.”

“People don’t always have to talk about breakups, Yami. Shit happens.”

“I guess.” I’m not totally convinced. Wouldn’t Bo have mentioned a breakup?

“Why are you so desperate to keep your feelings a secret? You already know she’s gay, so if she doesn’t feel the same, at least she’ll understand. It’s not like she’ll go telling people.”

“You don’t know that! What if she tells everyone?”

“Why would she tell anyone?”

“I don’t know, to embarrass me . . .” It sounds ridiculous when I say it out loud.

“I think you’re just making excuses because you’re scared.”

“Aren’t you scared?” I say. He has to be scared of Mom finding out about him, too.

“I meant about Bo.”

“I’m not scared.” I roll my eyes.

He smirks like he knows he’s right. And he is, but I’m not admitting it to him. But I let him give me advice and ask me whatever questions he wants. It’s all talk, because I’m going to do nothing about this crush until I eventually suck all the fun out of it and it goes away.

My phone beeps at me. I grab for it quicker than I should on the off chance it’s my dad.

Bianca: I miss you . . .

I stare at the text, half expecting to blink and realize I’m seeing things. But the name on my screen doesn’t change, no matter how many times I blink at it. A smile creeps onto my face.

“Ayy, that’s her, huh?” Cesar says.

“Um, yeah.” I know he means Bo, but I don’t feel like explaining the situation. I still haven’t told him what happened with Bianca. I can’t deal with his questions right now, so I lie.

“All right, you can go now,” he says, and I laugh.

“Are you kicking me out?”

“Yes. Go talk to your girl.”

I grab my phone, rush back to my room, and sit on my bed, staring at the I miss you . . . on my screen.

I know it’s not an apology. But it feels good. I’m not smiling because she texted me, I’m smiling because she misses me. I know she never felt the same way about me, but damn it feels good to know she’s thinking about me. I feel like I won. Because she’s thinking about me, and I’m thinking about someone else. Someone better.

I think I’ll leave her hanging.

The dots show up on my screen that say she’s typing again. I used to respond to her right away, so she’s not used to waiting. It’s a minute before another message shows up.

Bianca: *as a friend

I could give myself a migraine from rolling my eyes so hard. Why the fuck would she feel the need to add that? It’s like throwing in my face that she’s uncomfortable with the fact that I’m gay. I wasn’t going to respond, but my fingers are already furiously typing away. The adrenaline rush is unreal.

Yami: First of all

Yami: bitch

The dots show up again, but I keep typing and send a few more messages before her response shows up.

Yami: I do not miss you

Yami: Second

Yami: Kindly, kiss my ass.

Yami: *as a friend

I block her number before she can respond.





15


Thou Shalt Not Adulate False Idols


I spend the next week so focused on making jewelry for the second mercado that the last days of school before winter break fly by. I work on the mercado jewelry while Mom works on the Etsy orders. It’s kind of perfect. I’m almost tempted to ask her to come with me to the mercado this time, but I know that would put her way behind. She won’t have my help filling orders this weekend because of the mercado, so I really just need to suck it up and go without her. I keep my hands busy beading, not bothering to check my phone when it buzzes. Before, I would jump every time I heard it on the off chance it was my dad texting, but I’ve given up on that now. He’s not talking to me . . . whatever. Maybe one day I’ll process what that actually means for me, but for now all I have to keep me from breaking are distractions.

While the rest of Slayton is on break as of our last class earlier today, I’m working harder than ever. It’s my last chance at the mercado, but I’m not optimistic about it. If it wasn’t for that one viejita last time, I wouldn’t have sold more than three things the whole day. Even though I barely slept, I’m still up when it reaches four a.m., stressing about the rest of the day.