The Lesbiana's Guide to Catholic School(56)

Something falls in the living room, and I’m on my feet and grabbing at the metal bat hanging from the bathroom door before my brain processes what I’m doing. Our neighbors got robbed while they were out of town for the summer, but it takes a ballsy robber to break into a house that has a car parked outside. I creep into the hallway, gripping the bat so tight my hands hurt. Mami wouldn’t want me putting myself out there like this, but I’m not trying to get robbed. Not when I need that jewelry for the mercado today. Having something to lose makes me braver. I get to the edge of the hallway, ready to swing at an intruder, when I hear a footstep right outside the hall. I wind up and jump out.

And swing right at my brother’s head.

Cesar ducks out of the way just in time and falls on the floor.

“Jesus, Yami!”

I drop the bat and clutch my chest in relief. “I thought you were a robber! Why are you out here so early?”

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m not, since you swing slow as hell!” He laughs, but he’s clutching his chest, too. “Couldn’t sleep, I guess.”

That boy really never sleeps, does he? I help him up, then realize he fell on top of some fallen jewelry. He must have knocked it over before, which explains the noise.

“Oh no . . .” I rush down on all fours to check if anything is damaged. A necklace and a couple of the bracelets fell apart.

“Shit, Yami,” Cesar says when he realizes that he broke something.

“It’s fine.” I sigh. It was my fault for swinging at him. It’s annoying, but fixable. “It’s not like they would have sold anyway. I’m the worst at this.” I must look pathetic, so I stand back up. If I was Cesar, I’d have sold everything I have by now. If he can charm strangers the way he does my mom, it’d be a done deal. I gasp at the idea it gives me.

“Cesar, you have to come with me!”

“To the mercado? All day?” He looks at me with a hell no kind of face.

“I’ll give you ten percent?” I plead, and his face immediately switches to a hell yeah.

I don’t know where Cesar learned any of it from, but he does things a lot different than I do. First, we had to leave the house in our school uniforms so people will know we’re kids and feel bad for us—leave it to Cesar to guilt people into buying things. Then he made us stop at Do?a Violeta’s to borrow her dog for the day—who knows why. And we had to set up the table differently this time.

Now we have only one of each piece displayed, so it looks like everything is one of a kind. (This one was my idea!) That way, if anyone wants to “come back,” they’ll be afraid of risking someone else buying the thing they want.

After I explain all the prices to Cesar, he makes me give him a play-by-play of last time so he knows what went wrong.

“Oh, sweet, sweet, Yami . . .” He shakes his head and tsks at me. I would flick him, but a little boy is pulling his mom over to us.

“Can I pet your dog?” he asks, and his mom gives us a sorry about him kind of look. Cesar plays with the kid, and the woman starts looking at our table to pass the time.

“How much for these?” She points at the traditional gold earrings.

Cesar cuts in before I can tell her sixty.

“They’re usually eighty, but you get the cute kid discount. Seventy.”

She laughs and gets out her wallet.

When she leaves, I’m seventy bucks richer. Well, sixty-three after I pay Cesar.

Cesar catches someone else eyeing the dog.

“You can pet her if you want!” he shouts, and they come over.

Rinse and repeat. He really is a genius.

We get a steady stream of customers throughout the day, mostly thanks to the dog or Cesar shouting compliments at people and telling them how good some bracelet or necklace or earrings would go with their skin tone. He’s really hustling for that ten percent.

But by noon, he’s about to fall asleep. It doesn’t surprise me, since it seems like he pulled an all-nighter. We’ve already made almost twice what I made last week, so we call it a day and head back home.

With roughly a couple months’ worth of rent and a security deposit saved up, I’m less stressed about finding another job. I’ll still need one, eventually, but the fact that no one wants to hire me doesn’t sting as bad right now. I’m a jewelry-making, moneymaking machine!

I post about today’s success on Insta, then start scrolling. Jamal posted recently, and I go to his profile, curious about how he’s doing in New Mexico. I immediately recognize the Rover courtyard in the background of a recent picture. Taken yesterday! He’s in town!

I wonder how long he’ll be visiting for. If he doesn’t come over to say hi, I’ll drag him to the house myself. Suddenly a light bulb goes off in my head.

If Jamal comes over as my fake boyfriend, I might be able to reverse all the damage I did with my dad. If I send him a video of me and my “boyfriend,” maybe he’ll just forget about this whole gay thing.

I was wrong about wanting my dad to know. It’s not worth it. Coming out to him was a mistake, but it’s one I can fix. I call Jamal to see if he’ll come over to take a video with me.

“Yami?” Jamal answers, sounding surprised.

“Hey, fake boyfriend, I need a favor.”

“Is everything okay?”