The Lesbiana's Guide to Catholic School(74)

“We love you!” Bo’s dad shouts, and makes a hand-heart.

I’ll miss them, but when I get to the airport, I run to my mom and throw myself into a hug the minute I see her. I missed my mom’s hugs. I missed my mom.

“Ay, mija, you’re gonna break my back,” she says, but she’s squeezing me just as tight.

Cesar pretends to clear his throat, and I let go of my mom and hug him. I missed Cesar, too. A lot. I want to ask them about the trip, but I also don’t want to hear about Dad, and I think Cesar gets my telepathic message. He hugs me back and talks about how he missed his bed.

And that reminds me how much I miss my bed.

The one in Bo’s guest room is much comfier than mine, but right now, I don’t want to be in any other bed but my own. As soon as we get home, I leap onto my mattress. It creaks at me to please not jump, but I don’t listen. When I settle in, there’s already cumbia music echoing through the house. I missed this.

After Cesar and I get plenty of time to soak up the feeling of being back in our beds, he comes into my room and sits at the foot of mine.

“Hey,” I say, but he doesn’t answer. Not for a while. I sit up and lean against the wall, waiting for whatever it is he needs to say.

“You were right.”

“What?”

“About Dad. You were right.” My stomach drops. Oh no . . .

“What do you mean?” I ask. Did Cesar come out??

“He just kept saying shit that pissed me off. I mean, I’m glad I went, I had a good time, you know? But I know why you didn’t want me to go. And I get why you didn’t want to.” He rubs the back of his neck. This feels like another one of his almost-apologies.

I can’t concentrate on anything besides that Dad “says shit,” and I wonder if he said anything to Mom about me.

“What did he say?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“What did he say?” I ask again. This time my voice is stern.

“He talked about you, all right?”

Of course he did. I want to be surprised, to cry, but I already knew. I was stupid to make excuses for him.

“What did he say, Cesar?” The pit in my stomach tightens. I know hearing the answer could ruin me, but I have to.

“Dad is a homophobic dickhead, okay? It doesn’t matter what he thinks.”

“That’s not true and you know it. He’s our dad.” It does matter what he thinks, no matter how much I wish it didn’t. I’ll always care what he thinks.

“So? Just because he ejaculated in Mom doesn’t mean it matters what he thinks.”

“Gross, stop! Wait, did he tell her?” I’m gripping my knees so hard it hurts. I almost don’t want to hear the answer. But I need to know.

He shakes his head. “He thinks you’ll get over it. Said he doesn’t want you out on the streets because of some ‘phase.’ He’s not gonna tell her. He was kind of venting to me about it.”

I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel. Upset that Dad still refuses to talk to me, or relieved that he’s trying to protect me from Mom? I rub my temples to soothe my aching brain.

“Anyways. What happened with you and Bo?” He winks. He always changes the subject before it gets too emotional. Right now, I’m glad for it.

“Nothing!” I hit him with my pillow.

“You better make a move on that girl. She’s not going to wait around forever!”

“She has a girlfriend. If anything, I’m the one waiting around.”

“I beg to differ!” He lifts his finger like we’re debating politics. “She likes you.”

“I beg to differ!” I lift my finger right back.

“You don’t have to beg, just ask her out nicely!” He snickers, and I know he’s trying to get under my skin. I push him off my bed.

“You know I’m right!” he says. I throw my pillow at him as he runs out of the room.

Getting used to being back at school is a trip. I liked the break life. No homework. I was with Bo and her rich parents. I could wear whatever I wanted. Now I’m doing a forty-minute commute to a school full of straight white kids who all wear the same thing as me. I look just like them, but I also don’t.

It hasn’t been long, but I’m excited to see Bo again, and the rest of our friends. I missed having friends. Not just since break, but since Bianca.

When I get to our lunch table, Amber is groaning with her head down on the surface, and David is patting her back.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“She’s having a fifth-life crisis,” Bo says.

Amber looks up at me. “My cousin is going to college next year. She knows exactly what she’s doing and why, and I still have no idea what I want to do with my life! I only have one more year to figure it out!”

“You’ll be okay,” I say.

“But how can you know that?” Amber asks.

“Because you don’t have to figure it out in a year. That’s what college is for, right?” It’s not like she’ll be put on the streets if it takes her a couple of years to find her calling.

“I don’t even know what college I want to go to.” Amber puts her head back down. I almost roll my eyes before I realize I’m being insensitive.