The Queen of Bright and Shiny Things(29)

“That was kind of adorable,” Lila observes when I retrace my steps.

Ryan doesn’t seem to think so. In fact, he looks like I punched him in the stomach. He makes a good recovery, though, pasting on a smile. If I didn’t know him so well, I’d think he was fine. This is how his face looks just before killing a bug. Ryan loathes insects.

“So, taco night.”

I hope he’s not expecting an invite. My aunt’s chipotle seitan tacos are delicious; and he won’t be having any for a while. “Yep. Have a good night.”

Lila takes my arm in case I’m tempted to linger, but I’m not. I push my bike for a block before saying, “It’s over two miles. I’ll pedal. You can ride.”

“Seriously?” She shakes her head, but climbs on it.

This is less fun when I’m doing the work, but it’s good for me. It’s half past seven by the time we get to my house. The lights are on inside, which means Aunt Gabby is home and cooking. I push through the front door, calling out a greeting, and wipe my feet. She comes to the kitchen doorway, wearing her cute sunflower apron.

“Oh, you didn’t tell me we were having a guest.” But she’s glad.

Though she never says anything, she worries about my socialization. She thinks I try too hard to be positive and she’s afraid I don’t put enough effort into making friends. But she doesn’t realize how tough it is not to backslide after a bad day. I keep my temper under lock and key and, mostly, I’m okay. I treat rage like an alien that hides in a corner of my brain. My aunt is devoted to ensuring my life is as normal as possible—and I’m happy I’m done with therapy, finally. If I lose it, even once, I’ll have to go back, which is why I take such care never to lose my temper.

“This is Lila.”

Who says, “I’d shake, but we’ve been garbage picking. Is there somewhere I can wash up?”

“This way.” I show her to the bathroom, decorated in Aztec style, with orange and yellow accents. In the middle of winter, it’s a burst of much-needed warmth.

“Cute house.”

I beam because my aunt and I spent hours picking out things together; she said it would make me feel more at home—and she was right. I love this house. It’s pretty much the only real home I’ve had since I was seven years old.

“Dinner’s done!” Aunt Gabby calls.

At first, Lila is skeptical of seitan tacos, but once we load them up with peppers, onions, cheese, pico de gallo, and sour cream, her eyes say, “yum.”

“I’d probably eat a shoe, prepared like this.”

My aunt grins. “You’ll love it, I promise.”

“You should try her lasagna,” I say, three tacos later. “She makes it every other Sunday because the cheese poundage she uses is a sin somewhere.”

Lila laughs. “I could be down with copious amounts of cheese. Huh. Why does that sound so wrong?”

I make the I-can’t-even face at her while snarfing the last of my black beans and corn.

Smiling, Aunt Gabby starts to clear the table, but I jump to my feet. “No way, it’s my turn.”

Though I don’t say so, it’s always my turn. I have to earn my keep. Lila raises a brow at me; I guess she’s never seen anyone so eager to clean up. I have my reasons.

My aunt relaxes back into her chair with a tired, appreciative smile. “Thanks.”

It’s nice listening to them talk while I work. My aunt seems to like Lila, who’s on her best behavior, though she’s still a little sharp on some notes. She wouldn’t be herself without a little sarcasm. Their laughter is warm, contented, and I enjoy the feeling. It occurs to me that this is the perfect time to talk to my aunt, while there’s a witness.

“Uhm. I have good news and bad news,” I say at the next pause.

Aunt Gabby comes over to the sink, propping a hip beside me. “Bad first.”

This is SOP for us. “I got two Fs, both in geometry. One was a test, the other a quiz.”

Through clenched teeth, she asks, “What’s the good news?”

“I found a tutor, and I think I did a lot better on the quiz I took today. He said he can help me bring my grade up to a B by the end of the term.”

“That is good news. Okay.” Aunt Gabby exhales, pushing the stress out of her body. “I’ll spot you a couple of bad grades, but you better not bring me a D or an F on your report card.”

“I won’t, I promise.”

“I’ll have to get medieval.” She tries to maintain a stern look but she just can’t do it, and we both burst out laughing. “So, a he-tutor? A not-Ryan he?”

Oh, crap.

“Yeah.” Hopefully I’m not the color of a Christmas ornament right now.

“Hot?” she asks Lila.

Who tilts her head and asks, “Shane?”

I nod.

“Then yeah,” she tells my aunt. “A little grunge, a little emo, but a hundred percent cute.”

“He is not emo.”

“Sorry. Dreamo.” She’s not sorry at all; she’s loving this, and so is my aunt.

Who asks, “Is that a thing?”

“No,” I say at the time Lila answers, “Totally.”

“Dreamo is not a thing.”